


Gut Feeling

by Castello



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Jokes, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Feral Behavior, Fluff, Frottage, Full Shift Werewolves, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Mating Bites, Misunderstandings, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Scent Marking, Sex Pollen, Sexual Frustration, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slice of Life, Werewolf Courting, Werewolves, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castello/pseuds/Castello
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski just wants a nice, relaxing night to himself. Of course, you can't really do much when there's a sex-crazed werewolf trotting down your door, now can you? Or - I was introduced to this pairing and I couldn't find enough fanfiction for it. So, here's one of those obligatory "sex pollen" kind of fics, with a twist of my own.





	1. "Sex Drug"

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind I don't have a beta, so if you caught a mistake I'd love to know so I can fix it up for future readers. :) Thanks!

It's kind of peaceful without Stiles around sometimes. Of course, he'd gladly take daily beatings of quirky wit and vegetable lectures over having Stiles away permanently... but some time to himself is nice too. Working as a sheriff in Beacon Hills, or anywhere for that matter, can really take a toll on a guy. Right now? Right now John just wants to eat his steak and leftover Halloween chocolate in peace without worrying about a stern talking-to from his caring son.

He's watching something random on the TV, just keeping some noise in the background while he enjoys medium-rare beauty. He'll eat a carrot later for Stiles. The channel has only just started getting into a weird documentary on old war relics when there's a rather loud, obtrusive knocking on his door. He doesn't have time to get up and answer though; the door is already sweeping open by the time he's set his knife down. He merely blinks and a man is walking through, all determination and sterling silence.

Because apparently, a man isn't entitled to privacy in his own home, especially when it comes to the Hales. "Peter?" he questions, managing to stand just as Peter rounds the table, coming to a stop right in front of him. "Peter what the hell are-?" John starts, holding his tongue when the intruder decides to lean into his personal space, just a nudge away from touching lips to his neck.

And he's sniffing.

God damn it, he's _sniffing_. The Hales are always one nutty act away from an official order for a psych evaluation, but this is a new level of strange. Peter is scenting the air, a low rumbling noise coming from his throat. John does _not_ know this man well enough for him to be popping his personal space bubble. "Hale, take a step back," he calmly orders, reaching a hand up in effort to push at his shoulder, but before he can he's being tossed right back down to the couch with an unflattering 'OOF'.

And Hale is right there against him, sniffing and nudging at him with his nose and... god damn it he's _licking_ John's neck now too. "Hale! You have five seconds to get the hell off of me before I _make_ you." he warns.

There's a small snort, like Peter's just laughed at him. So now, on top of being kinda creeped out, he's a little ticked. He pushes.

He gets a low growl and a persistent hand circling his wrist for his efforts. The small nudges and little licks are getting more insistent, Peter's chin filling the gap between his neck and his shirt collar and it's warm. _Confusingly_ warm. Maybe he's just more touch starved than he'd previously realized, but John isn't quite sure he hates that subtle heat. A little bit of stubble scrapes against the damp skin that Peter's been toying with, and he actually squeaks. "Hale! Get the hell off of me!"

"Dad!"

Stiles and the younger Hale are dashing through the open door, hopefully to his rescue- but they stop halfway to him and John's hope dissipates. Peter goes rigid against him as they enter, shifting slightly so that his body is shielding John from Derek and Stiles, neck craned so that he can glare at the offending intruders over his shoulder. "Hale..." John starts, calmly, rationally, "Can you explain what the _hell_ your uncle is doing in my lap?"

Stiles actually starts snickering. Derek shoves him. "I'm afraid that's difficult to explain, sir."

Peter is still growling, but he's less stiff, starting to press a rather noticeable erection into John's personal space. He glares at Derek. "Try me."

"Okay, Dad," Stiles begins, somewhere between nervousness and laughter, "so, before we can really... you know, properly explain," he brings his hands up in front of him, like he's talking down a shooter, and John feels a little surge of pride. Stiles is constantly proving he'd be a good cop. "I mean, not that I wouldn't love to just jump right into the explaining, but you know, life isn't easy."

" _Stiles_."

"First we've gotta try to calm Peter down."

"I tried that already," John supplies. His eyes suddenly widen and he glances helplessly towards his son. "Stiles," he panics, "he's humping my leg."

"Oh my god!" Stiles can't contain it anymore and actually lets out a full fledged howl, grabbing his side and still trying hard not to _completely_ lose it. It's obviously a difficult chore. John is thankful Derek is glaring at him, since he can't really get good eye contact from underneath Hale. "Oh my god, your creepy uncle is all over my dad. Peter is so getting _all of the shit_ for this. I don't know whether to cry or laugh!"

"I can make you cry if you don't _stop_ laughing," Derek threatens.

"Watch it, Hale."

Peter seems to notice John's tension, because his light thrusts dissipate and he starts whining in earnest, nudging his face back into the sheriff's neck. He licks again, and then has the audacity to start sucking a hickey onto his skin. John is most definitely _not_ going to let this man, or any man for that matter, do anything like that to him. Especially not in front of his son. Of course, it's too late to take back the little startled groan he'd let slip. It feels good.. he can admit, but the embarrassment he feels watching Stiles _watch him_ takes away any pleasure. He hits Peter in the ear, ignoring the little hurt whimper he gives out. "Hale!"

"You're going to have a hard time if you keep calling them both Hale, Dad."

"Stiles, so help me God-"

"Right! Right. Okay, Peter... you're... gonna need to get off my dad now," he tries, ignoring the way Derek crosses his arms. "Come on, buddy, we'll find somebody who can help you. You've gotta let go now."

Peter pulls John a little closer to his chest. "That's not working, Stiles." John goes to knock his ear again, but he gets both his wrists pinned to the couch.

He decides he's going to try bucking the man off his lap, understanding Stiles' laughter is about to get worse. John can already hear the "riding the bull" jokes, but he's running out of options. He goes for it anyway, pushing off the floor with his feet, trying to knock Peter off, or at least shake his resolve. It doesn't get him much more than Peter happily pushing right back, grinding his hips against John with a pleased purr and another lick to his jaw line. "Hale, I will sue you for sexual assault!"

"He can't help it, Dad," Stiles tries. "I can't really explain it but... basically he's... umm.... I mean I guess the best way to word it would be sex drugs."

"What was that?"

Derek is staring Stiles down, but he's trying his best to keep his eyes forward, ignoring his steel-like-glare. "Sex drugs. That's basically what's happened to him-- or at least, the most basic explanation I can give. He can't really... think straight right now. No pun intended. He's on a one track train to boner town. Puttin' out his feelers-"

"I got it, son. Now can you get him _off_ of me?!"

"Not... exactly..." Stiles pathetically tries, scrunching his shoulders up.

John's getting fed up with this. "And why the hell not?"

Derek groans, wiping a hand down his face. "Because Peter's state of mind is so out of whack he'll start attacking people if we try."

"Well then get him off me! If I'm in danger anyhow-"

"You're not in danger. He's not going to hurt you." Derek adds suddenly.

Stiles just nods. "Look, dad, there's going to be a much bigger explanation after this, obviously... but right now... we uh... we can't separate you guys." He looks sheepishly over to Derek, who shakes his head, then back to his father. "Actually, the only way for him to calm down is.. to uh... kinda... do the diddly. With you. You specifically."

John decides not to say anything. Peter has managed to slip a leg down between John's so that he can't try to shove him off anymore. He's a little more elevated above John now, but he's taken to breathing heavily into his ear. The warm, damp air sends a tingle down his spine with every exhale and John realizes he needs to make a decision. Now. "You're not going to help me get him off?"

"Well... _you'll_ have to get him off."

The sheriff groans, "Get the hell out."

Stiles blinks. "I'm sorry, Dad, I was just kidding-"

"If you're not going to help me _push him off_ of me and you're not going to make him stop, I'm gonna do it. If I can't, then I'd rather you weren't here for the repercussions," he muttered, trying to butt Peter's head away with his own. "Now get out, Stiles. You're gonna get an earful later, don't you worry."

Stiles drags Derek out with a red face, and they thankfully shut the door Peter had left wide open upon arrival. The TV is still going, but John isn't in a position to complain. "Alright, Hale," he grumps, trying to ignore how puppy-cute it is that Peter's relaxed now that the others have left, "you have three seconds."

"One."

Peter licks a slow stripe from his collarbone to his ear.

"T-two."

The knee between his legs pushes at his groin, and one of Peter's hands sweeps down to pull John against him, encouraging him grind into it.

"Th-" John's a little cut off by the quick jab of pressure he feels, a spiral of pleasure swirling up his body, making him crane for a moment.. _but just a moment._ "Three, Hale!"

He pushes with his chest, angry that the single hand holding his wrists is strong enough to keep them there. He tries to bite when that doesn't work, kicking up a leg to maybe knee Peter where it hurts. He gets an angry grumble for his efforts, and it looks like it's suddenly dawned on Peter that John isn't actually just playing hard to get. "Get. Off." he repeats.

Peter's face scrunches up a bit, he looks a little hurt, but then his nostrils flare and his eyes look more glazed over. It takes John a minute to realize what he's looking at afterwards, as Peter's eyes flash a deep shade of red.

His eyes flash a.... _his eyes just changed colors_. "Wh-what the hell?"

Peter seems content now that John isn't actively trying to get away, and noses at his chin, trying to push it up and to the side. He fights it at first, but the pressure becomes more insistent and hurts. So he relents, and moves his chin so that his neck is extended and exposed. Peter makes a pleased sound and kisses John's jaw. "Hale. Talk to me at least..." he tries, giving in when Peter pulls him against his leg again, the sweet pressure returning. "What's happening?"

There's a short delay, and for a second John thinks he isn't going to reply at all. When he does, it's low and raspy. "Mate," Peter mutters into his skin, nipping and kissing until his neck is mostly red, and John can't even deny it anymore, he's a little turned on.

It feels like Peter knows his sweet spots, the way he drags a hand down his arm, fractionally tightening his grip on John's side and making him shiver. "M-mate?"

Peter nods happily. " _My_ mate."

Then there's a sudden movement, and John's being pushed over onto his back, the leg trapped beneath Peter is pulled along with the momentum while the other stays angled to the floor. The clever bastard is now between John's open legs, arms bracketing his head and even though John's hands are now free and loosely pushing at his shoulders, he feels more encaged now than he did before. "Sex drug?" he manages just before Peter can dive in with his mouth again.

"Deaton's stuff," Peter replies vaguely, quickly, like he's trying to rush through conversation, "It spilled."

"Doctor Deaton? The veterinarian?!"

Peter hums, back at his collar, this time pulling at his shirt with a hand. The buttons pop easier than John would have liked, but he can't help the small, alarmed yelp he lets out when Peter's all-seeking-mouth finds its way over a nipple. God, he hasn't been touched like this in years. Well, this specifically? Even longer. He was a college kid once too... but... it was never like this. College guys were self-driven, and any experimenting was for their own pleasure. But Peter... Peter's entire attention was on him. _Over_ him. He's groaning when a caressing hand skids down his side, untucking the open shirt from his pants and starting to caress down the outside of his thigh. The movement forces John to lift his leg, so it's slotted almost over Peter's hip. It's Peter doing, so you can't really blame John, even if he goes easily and leaves his leg up when Peter's hand moves again.

"Mmmine," Peter half-groans, bringing his mouth directly over John's, hovering just centimeters above it.

His breath is warm against John's lips, and John is overwhelmed with the sudden urge to just throw caution to the wind and kiss him. Because this feels good, Peter feels _insanely_ good against him, and he hasn't even kissed John yet. He's nipped and licked and sucked but he hasn't _kissed_ John. He's hovering, a small smile on his face, like he's content just to be in John's breathing space, sharing his air, like a kiss would be a _privilege_. John takes a look at his face and realizes with a jolt of emotion that that's exactly what it is. He's asking John for permission.

And God, John _really_ wants to give it to him. He jerks his head forward just a fraction, like he's simply reacting to the *ehem* _lower_ movements, hoping maybe they'll accidently brush lips and then it won't look intentional. But Peter's fast to draw his face back an inch, keeping his body moving against John even though his lips aren't. They're just... _there_. Tantalizing him... Breathing heat against his own and making them tingle. He gives one consenting thrust up, hoping that will acknowledge his encouragement so Peter will keep things moving.

Peter doesn't. Instead he stills completely, dropping his weight down on John so he can't move like that anymore. He keeps his eyes locked with John's, mouth still just a small movement away, unblinking. Because this is _important_. John doesn't really understand _how_ important, and he gets that, but he can see it in the determined face Peter's wearing. As sweet as it is, John's left horny and unsatisfied. He wants the friction back. He's become a little desperate for this delicious thing going on to _keep_ going on.

Jesus, he's as sexually frustrated as his son.

And at least Stiles has puberty to blame.

Peter just continues to silently wait, slowly stroking a thumb over John's cheekbone in small brushes back and forth. It's sweet, and intimate... not quite what John had been expecting from Peter. Especially if he's hopped up on some sex drug, shouldn't he be all over John? Riding out the wave of whatever he was high on? John takes another look at Peter's face and it clicks. He's waiting for consent.

Even high on hormone-inducing drugs, Peter's being a gentlemen, he's waiting for permission. John groans, sucks in a nerve-steeling breath, and gives it. He tentatively plants the tiniest of kisses on Peter's lips. It's not even really a kiss, just a little peck, but apparently it's enough. Peter smiles a positively wolfish grin and ducks his head, capturing John's mouth in a _real_ kiss. A _rewarding_ kiss. One that leaves him a little breathless and lightheaded, combined with the friction that has kicked up again, and it's delicious.

Peter's got him out of his pants faster than John's brain can track, unlatching the button of his slacks and tugging down the zipper. It's not what John was expecting, but he's thankful Peter isn't diving right into anything right away. He's getting up there in years and the last thing he needs right now is a broken back from ill-prepared sex or, god forbid, a split anus. But he didn't want to think about that. It wasn't happening, so he could and _should_ just focus on the blissful feeling of Peter's naked skin, forceful against him, grinding and leaning over him with a lustful, purposeful gaze. His shirt was off. Somewhere in the mix, that had happened and John had _missed_ it. He suddenly felt even older, watching rippling, sweaty muscles contract and shape with every thrust, slotting their erections together in wonderful friction. Peter was cut... He looked strong and young... and John was... not. John suddenly wanted to cover himself, his greying chest hair and slight belly. He settled for slinging an arm over his eyes, hoping maybe if he couldn't see he'd be less ashamed.

Peter huffed, slouching down and faltering in his thrusts so he could pull John's arm away. John expected some sort of scolding, or even something sweet and encouraging at this point. But instead of saying anything, he kissed John, deep and hard, flinging that arm carelessly around his shoulder, where John gripped fiercely. His rhythm got faster, harsher, the pressure and friction a wonderfully stimulating overload for John, who decided to just _hold on_. Both arms around Peter's neck, scratching lamely at his back as Peter came.

It wasn't a twin orgasm at all, but John whimpered lightly when Peter lost it all the same, foreign semen splaying over his stomach. There wasn't much recoup time however. Peter was moving again before John could catch his breath, licking his own cum off of John's chest happily. He hummed, slipping down further and further until he was planting kisses into John's hip bone, biting, scratching ever so slightly, then taking him into his mouth. John came with a wild, embarrassing cry, and did end up flailing an arm over his face in the end.

He kept it there. Even going so far as to work a muscle holding it in place when Peter huffed and tried to pry it free. John had seen his display of strength, knew he could make John let go if he really wanted to, but he obviously wasn't working to his full potential. Instead, Peter settled for lazily lounging over the sheriff's belly, content to rub his stubble over where he'd just cum all over John. Like he was marking his territory.

John groaned, huffing with a lack of energy, and gently bopped his head with his free hand, "You are _so_ going to get shit for this tomorrow, Mister."


	2. "Mate"

John woke up half naked, cold, and alone on his chilled couch. He was disorientated for a moment, piecing things together from the previous night and sparing a sad glance over at his abandoned steak, still sitting on the coffee table. At least the TV was off. He fumbled around for his phone, shooting Stiles a grumpy  _Where are you? Come home._ text. He hesitated a moment, then quickly added, _Bring Hale._

He was startled by the speedy response.

_Which Hale?_

The sheriff groaned. _Both. Peter has some explaining to do._

He sighed heavily, pushing up and off the couch, cleaning up his poor, unfinished steak, and Halloween candy wrappers. He was hungry, groggy, and a little disorientated. Not only had last night been incredibly confusing, but Hale had left before he'd woken up. It felt a little like college, one night stands with his partner leaving in the morning. No word, no note, no explanation. John might have been a _little_ upset over it, but he was more confused than angry. Though his confusion just made him more upset. He shoved the steak into the microwave and started fiddling with the coffee maker. God knows he needed a cup today.

* * *

"That was my dad," Stiles said, looking up from his seat next to Derek, "He wants us over there to explain last night..."

"Go on then." Peter grumbled, sitting on the spiral steps, staring down at the laptop balancing on his knees, pretending to be immersed in reading.

Stiles sighed, sterning his expression, " _All_ of us."

He kept his face buried, hoping maybe his pointed indifference would deter Stiles from poking at it any further. Peter didn't want to go back. He'd acted irrationally the previous night. Irrationally and irresponsibly. He wasn't anxious to face John again any time soon. Still coming to terms with his behavior _himself_ , Peter couldn't imagine what the sheriff would be thinking.

It was Derek who spoke next, standing with a grunt, "You're going to have to face him eventually, Peter. He's the sheriff." He took a step closer, powerful in his resolve, "And he's your mate. You couldn't stay away even if you wanted to."

Peter's head rose, he huffed, keeping an elegant air about himself while trying to mask his irritation, "Don't tell me what I can't do."

"You want to be pack?"

Peter glared at him. A rhetorical, if not threatening, question. Of course he did. Peter had been trying to slip back into Derek's life, _into his pack_ , for months now. He smirked, at least their time apart hadn't made them _too_ different. "Blackmail is a good look on you, nephew."

Derek crossed his arms defiantly, "Your mate called you. You'd feel compelled to go even if I didn't tell you to."

"You don't know what I feel. It was a fluke, obviously. Stilinski and I don't even know each other that well. He can't be my mate."

Stiles jumped up from the couch, "Deaton said the chemical you got into doesn't _force_ a mate on you. It just helps the potency of your feelings. The ones _already there._ " Peter went to respond, but Stiles held up a hand, "Careful what you say next. That's still my dad."

In his standing, Stiles had slotted himself next to Derek, leaning ever so slightly into his space. Peter had always thought they made a handsome couple, Stiles was just as stubborn as Derek, but he was more outspoken. He complimented Derek well. It was charming. _Sometimes_. Right now it felt like he was being ganged up on by an immature couple high on _love_. His wolf felt a little restless, bordering on being boxed in.

"Besides," Stiles added, seeming to jump on the moment as Peter's instincts made themselves known, "your wolf recognized him as your mate. You can't really make excuses for that one."

"Because _you_ know so much about mates." he bit, watching with light amusement as Derek's foot twitched a little, sweeping ever so slightly in front of Stiles. Good. Should always defend your mate.

Jesus... _mates_. Peter had been happily resigned, for a long time, to a mate-less life. He'd realized years ago he wasn't a nurturing kind of man. A happy pack with a mate and little pups running around wasn't in the cards for him. He was hard and guarded, a bit conniving, he admitted and recognized. Happy and warm weren't feelings he was used to. When he'd knocked over that jar in Deaton's lab, spilling the soft, yellow liquid all down his face, he'd been overwhelmed with this sudden _urge_. His chest ached for contact, for _that scent_ in his nostrils. He'd had previous interactions with Sheriff Stilinski. He was clever, occasionally humorous, he'd enjoyed their few conversations... but not to a point where he wanted to _mate_ with him.

Peter had no reason to believe this was really what having a mate felt like.

He just felt nauseous and uneasy. Last night had been fuzzy, but it had felt good. He'd wanted more, _so much more_. Peter had only gotten a tiny taste. He'd felt the warm flesh beneath him, swallowed up the small whimpers John had been reluctant to let out, licked the sweet, burley scent right off his neck. Peter had wanted to storm in, toss him right down onto that sofa and just--

Derek coughed.

Stiles gave Derek a weird look, then Peter, and back to Derek, horrifying realization dawning on his face when he noticed Derek's visible discomfort. "Eww. Gross. That's- Can you _not_ fantasize about my dad while I'm right here please?"

Peter growled, "I assure you, it wasn't intentional." his words sharp.

"Can you keep a lid on that?"

He huffed, "I'm _not_ going."

Derek's eyes flashed a brilliant red, his brow becoming deeper in a challenging gesture. Peter was about to jump right into a rebuttal, getting ready to let his fangs out when Stiles stepped in. "Peter." he offered, soft and cautious, "Please. My dad is probably really confused."

Peter wasn't soft, but the little cautious look Stiles bore was reminiscent to John's right before they'd kissed. The image flashed in his mind. John had given him permission in the end, he'd kissed Peter first. Maybe... Maybe it would be alright. He let his temper rumble in his chest, a low growl purring under his breath. But he kept his teeth in. "Fine."

Stiles smiled at him, "Thank you."

Peter briefly wondered if John would smile like that too... then kicked himself for being a sap.

* * *

John was stationed in the kitchen when he heard the familiar rattle of his son's jeep, and the smooth purr of the car he assumed belonged to the Hales. He threw back the rest of his coffee, standing to clear his steak plate and coffee mug before Stiles came in. Maybe he could pour himself a glass of orange juice in time if he was lucky.

Unfortunately he didn't even have time to finish washing his plate. "Hey dad." Stiles awkwardly greeted, stomping in and taking a seat at the counter, the Hales filing in shortly after, "What'd you have for breakfast? Is there anything left?"

John gave his son a half smile, "I had leftovers."

"What? Steak and candy?" Stiles huffed, frowning.

"Just the steak."

Derek took a seat next to Stiles, but John was wearily eyeing Peter, who stayed standing off to the side, like he wanted to hide. _Good_. He should. Stiles shook his head, "At least tell me you had a vegetable?"

"Why would you have a vegetable for breakfast?" Peter chimed in, a lopsided smirk jumping on his face.

John raised a hand in his direction, " _Thank you_."

"Are you going to be imposing bad habits on my dad? Because I won't sanctify anything if that's the case."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Because I require your blessing."

Not really sure how he should feel about the comfortable conversation passing between his son and the man who'd fucked and ducked, John cast his glance Derek's way. At least Derek seemed to be thinking the same thing, offering him an uncharacteristically apologetic shrug before nudging Stiles' elbow. When Stiles and Peter turned back, John didn't know if it was a change for the better. Now they were silent, and the room was awkward.

"So..." he tried.

"So..." Stiles echoed.

John felt the need to busy his hands, "Who wants to explain last night to me?" he asked, turning to the fridge, deciding to pour that glass of orange juice after all.

* * *

Peter could smell John's nervous anxiety as Stiles began to explain carefully. He decided he didn't like the way it curdled the succulent natural scent the man had. Brown, like a whiskey, with faint mists of dark roast coffee and baked goods. He smelled homely, only slightly aged, like the fining of a wine or the _best_ kind of brandy. It was intoxicating, and he wanted to gulp in lungfuls of it. Had John always smelled this good? Why hadn't he noticed before?

Sure, the sheriff had always smelled _nice_ before... but this, this was different. This was a delirious scent. One he _needed_ , wanted to _devour_ , Peter wanted to lap it up and off his skin, to _taste_ it on his tongue and swallow. It made him hungry, horny, and happy all at once.

He didn't realize he'd moved until John was jolting away from him. "Whoa, okay-" he yelped, "that needs to stop."

"Peter." Derek warned, and Peter did his best to move away, but he couldn't. He settled for staying planted where he was instead of moving forward.

"And that's..." Stilinski trailed off, looking back and forth between Peter and his son, "that's a werewolf thing?"

"Yeah." Stiles offered, gesturing helplessly, "He can't really help it."

The sheriff nodded shakily, looking Peter up and down cautiously, "And so... what does he have to do? Like... smell me?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly "It would help him calm down."

Nodding was all he could really do. John took a small step forward and Peter nearly jumped him. He couldn't get himself under control. Peter had a harder time breathing when the sheriff nodded again, "Yeah, yeah okay."

Then Peter was there, an arm looped around his waist, his nose buried in John's neck, existing in his _amazingly_ sweet, heavy scent. He felt calmer, nuzzling slightly. He could think clearer, "Thank you." he mumbled, his whole body fuzzy with lovely contentment.

"You're welcome."

Stiles was smiling awkwardly, and upon further inspection, even Derek's lip had twitched upward a small nitch.

"So how does this work?" John asked, peeking around Hale, "Do we... does he have to keep doing this a lot?"

Peter exhaled a long, relaxing breath, taking a moment just to nuzzle in a little further, "I'm not sure." he wedged his nose under John's earlobe, admiring how the scent was just a fraction stronger there, carding the knowledge away for later, "I've had a couple little outbursts where I can't control it, but other than that, I don't know what this needs."

"Contact." Derek supplies. "Spending some time together."

"I can't exactly jump up and leave whenever he feels cuddly." John huffed.

Peter thought John might have leaned into him, _just a fraction_ , but it was small, barely even there. He might have just imagined it. Peter decided to do it for him. Their chests touching, one hand on his hip, another grazing along the sheriff's fingers, silently questioning. His wolf wanted to yip happily when Stilinski turned his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"We can figure out time tables or something," Stiles offered, "I could draw up a schedule around your work hours? Or something..." Stiles started shifting in his seat, "Hey so... while we're here- in this conversation I mean, dad, I uh, should probably tell you something else."

"Oh dear god." John groaned. "At least tell me it's not a bigger shock than _this_. Are sirens and unicorns real too?"

Peter chortled against John's neck, smirking.

"It's nothing bad." Stiles replied, giving Derek a quick look. "It's just... well, see, Derek is a werewolf too and well... _we're_ also..."

Derek huffed, rolling his eyes before taking matters into his own hands. "Stiles is _my_ mate."

John frowned, blinking silently for a moment. "Oh." he said.

Peter nudged him again, trying to express encouragement. John would have thought it was endearing if the situation wasn't so entirely crazy. Werewolves. His son was _mates_ with a werewolf. John dipped his eyes down to Peter's jacket, almost tucked under him with how close they were. He was mates with a werewolf too apparently. John clicked his tongue. He'd thought Stiles was somehow using _time travel_ before, he supposed this was less of a stretch than that. "Well, how come you're not stuck together like this?" he buffed, jutting his chin towards them.

"Peter got into a chemical that just kinda... accelerated things. It effects him in a weird way. You know..." he flicked his wrist, smirking like he was about to tell a joke, "sex drug?"

Memories came back, flooding Peter's mind with images of John, naked beneath him. The way he moved, the way his scent had thickened, making the whole room swell with that luscious smell. Arousal smelled good on John. He wanted to smell it again. He wanted to bury himself in John, to take him, _claim him_ , because he was _Peter's_.

Peter shook his head and took a quick step backward, turning his face to the side and sucking in the air that was less thick with John's scent. The room was watching him, so he coughed, burying his nose in the cook of his arm and taking another step back, unlacing his fingers with John's and hating it... but he wasn't in his right mind. "I'm sorry..." he apologized, sending Derek a quick, desperate look, "I can't think-"

"Is he okay?" John asked.

The genuine concern in his voice made Peter whimper. His wolf was desperate to go back, angry at Peter for pulling them away from their mate. The mate they should be _claiming--_ should be hauling up onto the counter and holding him down, fucking into that strong body, _proving_ they were superior, proving they were the _A_ _lpha_. His mate should be submitting to him! "Derek." he barked, "Please hold me back."

Derek shot up from his seat faster than John could track, gripping Peter's shoulders and dragging him backward, then planting himself firmly.

"What's going on?" Stiles questioned, rising from his stool as well.

Peter didn't feel in control of himself right then, a carnal need to _claim_ and _possess_ coursing through his veins, controlling his limbs for him. He tried to take a step forward, suddenly thankful Derek was there to hold him in place. His will was strong, but his wolf was _insistent_. And slightly malicious. The thoughts in his mind didn't seem safe, didn't seem like what you would really want to feel for a mate. His wolf wanted to own and control that scent, wanted to keep him close forever, locked up so nobody else could get to him. His wolf didn't want to be soft. It worked with his nature. John _needed_ to be his. But that... that wasn't what it should feel like. "My wolf." he bit, realizing he was in over his head. "I can't.."

Peter didn't feel like he deserved a mate. Especially if he couldn't bring himself to be civil enough to treat one right... Christ, every inch of him tingled with the need to do--as Stiles would so elegantly put it-- "creepy-uncle things". If he couldn't keep himself under control for an hour in the Sheriff's kitchen, in front of his nephew and John's son, how was he supposed to keep himself contained any other time? It was hard to fight the wolf. Uneasy, Peter looked up at John, hoping to apologize for his unexpected outburst, and all his forceful thoughts came to a screeching halt.

John looked scared.

Peter  _snarled_ , angry at himself, at the wolf, and the wolf angry at him. He was fighting with himself over this stupid _mate_ business, over a mate he'd _startled into silence_. He growled and snapped his jaws. Maybe it was the rush of emotion, the small hope of having a mate being stripped away from him that left Peter feeling so crushed, but the dread devoured him. He felt Derek's hand clench over his shoulder in warning and tried to focus on that feeling. He took deep breaths, craning his neck to the side so that he was inhaling a more potent rush of Derek's scent than John's. He huffed, muttering low enough that the humans in the room couldn't hear him, "I _told_ you I shouldn't have come."

"I don't think Peter has full control over his actions right now." Derek said, lifting his head towards the Stilinskis. "We should probably get him back..."

"Do I need to do something?" John offered, taking a hesitant step forward.

Peter jolted, his shoulders tightening where they strained against Derek's hold. "No." he bit, shaking his head clear and forcing a smile, trying to look thankful and not worry John any more than he already had, "Probably be best if you didn't come any closer right now."

"What's wrong?" 

Peter wanted to jump out of Derek's reach, rush forward and tackle John right onto the floor. This sudden need nearly _crippled him_ with lust. He let out a shaky sigh and tried to look unaffected by John's kindness, "I'm not sure I can stop myself if I stick around here much longer." he admitted, "My wolf wants to _throw you_ _over that counter_ and-"

" _Peter_." Stiles interrupted, looking absolutely scandalized.

John stilled, nodding obediently before scooting back towards his son. Peter would have felt proud of his mate for obeying him, but he was busy trying to perish those kinds of thoughts. It didn't help that John's scent had mingled with a hint of arousal that wasn't there before. The idea had _turned him on_. He focused on calming breaths, working his hardest to keep his attention on Derek's scent instead. "We may need the good doctor's help after all..."

"Deaton?" John asked, raising looks from both Stiles and Derek. John huffed, "So the vet is a werewolf too? Or does he just take care of the puppies?"

"Ha!" Stiles blurted, chiming in, "I _told_ you it was funny."

"We'll get Peter to Deaton, figure out what's happening, and then get back to you." Derek nodded towards the sheriff, offering a hopeful expression.

John wasn't really relieved by it, but he appreciated the effort.


	3. "Adjust"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this update taking so long... I burnt my hand pretty badly and couldn't type... or do much of anything for that matter. It was hell. IS hell. I'm okay and it's healing pretty well, it was just a painful nuisance for a while.

Peter was grumpy.

Stoically settled atop Deaton's steel examination table, listening to Derek talk just a few feet away, he was brooding. Peter's reputation certainly didn't exactly write him off as easy going and well tempered, but the scene he'd caused at Stiles' house was still running through his mind. It pissed him off in fact.

The wolf had always been an ill-mannered beast, driving his most primal behavior and actions, but he'd been _alarmed_ with how quick his thoughts had been to jump from cuddly to serial killer-- The way his instincts had been telling him to _take, take, take_. The sheriff was a tough, driven man... Locking him up in a bedroom probably wouldn't get him very far with the guy. Peter wanted to slam a fist down on the table. Instead he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, willing himself to remain calm.

"He's going to need some time to adjust-"

"Adjust to _what_ exactly?" Derek demanded, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow at the veterinarian.

Deaton sighed, lifting a hand to his forehead, "The chemical he got into is derived from an old native wolf remedy. Used back when we still did mating runs," he adjusted himself so that he was addressing Peter as well before continuing, "It used to be used for helping wolves "bulk up" for a chase, driving their instincts."

"How do you mean?" Peter questioned, beating Derek to the punch.

"As I'm sure you already know, mating runs were all about catching your mate before another wolf could claim them." Deaton began, extending his arm out to a shelf to bring a familiar jar down, "This remedy was used to drive wolves practically feral, hoping they'd be entirely focused on catching and keeping their mate." he tapped the jar with a finger, jostling the warmly colored liquid inside, "Used to be, just catching them wasn't enough. Another wolf could come in and challenge you for the rights to that mate at any moment. This stuff made the prime goal to claim _immediately_ , not to waste any time, and made wolves extremely hostile towards anyone who would try to take their mate away."

Deaton seemed to be watching Peter's reactions, carefully recording information as he put the jar back, Peter's eyes trailing after it cautiously. "On top of that, it heightened their senses for detecting the right mate. It made them stronger, faster, and made the wolf more dominant than their human sides. In a sense, they truly became animals."

"Does it wear off?" Derek prompted, jutting his chin towards the jar.

"Traditionally they stayed feral until the proper claim on their mate had been made, then they were no longer in any danger of losing them."

Beside them, Peter let out a small whine, thinking about what it would feel like... if he ended up losing John. He could understand their dismay over potentially losing a mate. Just having John out of reach was making Peter feel physically sick, he couldn't even imagine having him gone completely, or worse, with someone else...

Derek scoffed at him, "If that's how it works, why isn't Peter feral?"

"Well," Deaton offered, letting a half smile twitch over his lips, "Normally its meant to be ingested. Peter just got it on his skin ."

"Why were you keeping a jar of it around here in the first place?" Peter barked.

"It pays to always be prepared."

Peter smirked, "You need feral sex drugs to be prepared? Never took you for the type, Doc."

"You'll be fine." Deaton huffed, waving a dismissive hand as he pulled Peter off his examination table, "It should wear off once you've claimed the mate you've chosen." he gave them a sudden, high eyebrow look, "Assuming you've found one?"

"Stiles' Dad." Derek muddled.

"The sheriff?" Deaton smirked, "Well you certainly don't do anything in halves, do you Peter?"

Peter didn't think it was that funny, dragging a civilian-- well, not even a civilian... dragging a headstrong  _cop_ into all of this, without any consent. He couldn't even say he knew John that well, therefore John didn't know _him_. They were little more than strangers and he would be asking John for so much. It was like someone you'd met a few times on the street popping in one day and asking you to marry them. Of course, in werewolf terms that was something fairly natural, common even, for people who found true mates. But for a human... It was probably unthinkable.

Stiles' "creepy uncle" comments kept popping into his head.

"You should offer to take him out sometime." Smiling, Deaton placed an encouraging hand on Peter's shoulder, "Get to know him."

"And vice versa, you mean?" Peter grinned bitterly, taking his hint, "I'm not sure I can stay in my own mind long enough for something like that."

Deaton laughed, "Honestly, I'm surprised you're as composed as you are. You're lucky you weren't drenched with a bigger dose."

"I would say that I'm thankful, but I'm really not."

"Come on." Derek gruffed, finally uncrossing his arms and nodding towards the door, "I'll call Stiles on the way back to the loft."

"Are you going to let the pups know what's going on?" Peter smirked, imagining how the other teenagers in Hale's little pack were going to react to the Peter actually having a mate. _Having Stiles' dad for a mate_ even.

Derek groaned, "They'd find out eventually anyway. _If_ Stiles hasn't already told them."

"Oh joy."

Deaton waved them off, "You'll be fine Peter, just do your best to keep control of your wolf."

He shoved his hands into his pockets on the way out, still feeling solemnly glum as he spoke, Deaton slowly fading out of hearing range, "How do we even know Stilinski will be on board with this? He might be too afraid of me after the way I behaved."

"I doubt it. They're tough. Stiles gets a lot of his courage from his dad." Derek offered, slowing a little in their walk to the car, leveling himself with Peter, "It'll be fine." he paused before adding, "And stop calling him Stilinski. Makes me uncomfortable."

Peter chuckled, "The scrawny one is all yours, nephew, don't worry."

Derek was taming a rumbling growl in his chest by the time they got to the car, sending Peter a small, sharp, warning glare.

* * *

Peter was thankful Derek had called Stiles with the news instead of John directly. It meant he wouldn't have to deal with hearing John on the line, probably freaking out, Peter wouldn't have to endure hearing his startled voice again. He wondered vaguely if John would be irritated with all the back and forth between messengers that he was getting, but it was better than the alternative. Peter didn't have the strength to be in the same room as John, let alone sit there and talk casually about sex and his condition. His thoughts drifted to a mental image of awkward little Stiles sitting there, explaining werewolf mating rituals to his own father. Peter ended up propping his elbow on the Camaro's window edge and hiding his smirk in his hand.

"Okay." Stiles spoke, the phone speaker a little too static-like for his wolf's liking, "So... that plan for contact we were talking about? Is that off the table? Do we have to keep them separated or something?"

"No." Peter snapped, whipping his head back towards the phone, alarmed. He acknowledged Derek's burning look and tried again, breathing sharply through his nose, "No... I'm... still in need of the contact... I just have to work on keeping my wolf under control."

"Yeah... Yeah, I've got you. Otherwise you'll- yeah, _yeah_ _no_ this is still super awkward for me. That's my dad." Stiles groaned, making a weird, throaty noise into the phone, reminded Peter a little of a dying cat, "Speaking of which, Peter! This should go unsaid, but if you hurt my dad, I know where he keeps his guns."

He chortled, "Threat acknowledged. However," he continued wryly, "I have an inkling your father would beat you to it."

"Damn straight."

Derek was grinning, "We'll talk later Stiles."

"Alright sourwolf. Keep me updated, I'll sit down with my dad and work on that schedule." he paused for a short second, "I love you."

Peter's eyebrows rose. He stared at his nephew, expecting him to close up in front of Peter, just grunt and hang up. Instead, a soft, adoring smile came over his usually stoic face. It was short lived, but clearly there as he returned the phrase, tolerating some more weird noises from Stiles before finally ending the call. Peter decided not to draw attention to it. He could settle with being content about Derek showing that side of himself to of Peter at all. It felt like progress. Derek caught his eye for a moment and did end up grunting, turning back to the road with that famous furrowed glare back in place. Well, take what you can get.

"You two are sickeningly cute you know. Setting the bar high."

Derek's second smile was smaller, but no less fond, and stuck for the rest of the drive home.

Now _that_ was progress.

* * *

The phone call ended just as Stiles was about to break out into the first verse of a Celine Deon serenade (he'd hummed the intro beautifully in his opinion) when Derek had hung up on him. John sat with Stiles at the kitchen table, a piece of blank paper spread out in front of him and a pen in his hand. With his tongue dipped out the corner of his mouth, Stiles set to work drawing lines down and across the page charting out a planner. He'd just finished labeling the tops with days of the weeks when John decided to ask the questions that had been picking at his mind all night, "So... werewolves."

"Yeah." Stiles smirked, huffing out a laugh, "Werewolves."

"And you and Derek?"

"Yeah. Me and Derek."

The sheriff nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and watching his son write his work schedule into the planner, scribbling out a few mistakes here and there. "He didn't..? You weren't forced into being his-" _You weren't also forced into being his mate like me?_

Stiles' pen paused mid-stroke leaving an incomplete 'T' on the page, whipping his head up, "No." he responded pointedly,  _quickly_ , "No it wasn't like that- like _this_  for us. It's not... This is definitely _not_ how it normally all goes down."

Of course, of course. John wasn't completely caught up to speed with their werewolf lives, but he understood that the situation between him and Peter wasn't exactly common. He bit the inside of his cheek. There had been an odd sense of resignation in his actions lately, John didn't know if it meant it he was crazy, or just too trusting. He'd found it easy to accept most of the things he'd been told, like that his son wasn't just spastic and odd- well, he _was_ , but now most of his behavior could be explained away with werewolves. Late night sneak outs, unexplained new and sometimes older friends, mysterious scratches and bruises. Werewolves. His son was friends with _werewolves_. _Mated_ to a werewolf, in fact. And John- John... was next apparently. 

Of course, Stiles had told him he still had a choice. Peter would give him a choice. He'd proved that himself the previous night when he'd stopped and asked for John's permission. Damn it. John had forgotten to punch him in the arm for leaving before he woke up. He guessed it was awkward for Peter too, but... John wasn't sure why he'd let Peter do those things. Maybe he'd just been desperate for human contact. Well, maybe not _human_ contact. Peter wasn't human.

John was busy running around different outcomes in his head. It didn't look like Peter was exactly in the right headspace... would he be affecting that even more by rejecting him? Could his decision make it _worse_? If that was the case, did he even really _have_ a decision? He couldn't, in good conscience, let Peter just waste away like that. And if a werewolf mate worked the same as mates in the animal kingdom, losing a mate was no small thing. Some animals died of heartbreak when they lost their mates.

Nodding to his son again, he coughed. John uncrossed his arms and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before opting to braid his fingers together atop the table, rekindling the conversation. "So, I heard you say it, but... You love him?"

Stiles smiled. It was warm and happy, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil John had just suffered. Reminded him of his bad days at work; when Stiles was younger and he'd come home after a hard day's work to a cheery, gap-toothed kid. "Yeah." he grinned stupidly, "Yeah I do, dad."

"Good. That's good." John shifted his hands again, watching his son finish up John's side of the planner. "So, your mating thing.... Isn't that like... wolf marriage? If it's for life?"

Stiles didn't look up from the paper, just nodded and hummed noncommittally. "Yeah, I guess?"

Huffing, he scooted closer, "So... did I miss your wedding?"

Stiles looked startled at that, slowly putting his pen down and looking back up at his dad, "I didn't think of it like that..." Stiles admitted, apologetic, "I mean, there wasn't a huge ceremony like there is for a real wedding and it's not _technically_  a human marriage or anything... but... I'm sorry dad."

John sighed, "Well, it wasn't like you could have really told me anyway. I probably wouldn't have believed you either."

"I could've just had Derek shift for you." Stiles smirked.

"I would have shot him."

Chuckling, Stiles lightly punched his dad's arm, "Don't kill my husband, please." he laughed harder, "Holy crap! I have to tell Derek he's my _husband_ now!"

He stood, whipping out his phone and starting up the stairs to his room, barely catching John's yell up at him, "Have a _real_ wedding! One I can attend! Make sure he makes an honest woman out of you! Remind him that I have _guns_!"

John was still smiling when he turned to pull Stiles' chart closer. Along with a filled out time table for the month, there was a couple sentences written at the bottom with a winking smiley face next to them. **Use protection. Werewolves CAN get you pregnant.** "Wait... how do... Stiles? STILES?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to point out, I had my good friend read this before hand for me, just to see if I was really staying true to the characters... There's a section where Deaton tells Peter
> 
> "Well you certainly don't do anything in halves."  
> My friend gasped, then started doing this... maniac giggle. When I asked her why...  
> She said, "Peter doesn't do anything in halves.... Except Laura." 
> 
> I punched her in the arm. 
> 
> I don't know if we can be friends anymore. ( -.-)


	4. "Scooby Doo"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't own these men, don't own their story,  
> but I wrote THIS one, and for that, I claim glory. 
> 
> This chapter is basically just cutesy fluff :)

The sheriff's office was quiet.

Normally John liked having a little peace in his own space when nothing was happening, he liked being left to his thoughts, revisiting the week and taking note of his accomplishments. It was nice alone time. This week though... Hell, just the last _few days_ had been chocked full with more crazy than he cared to try and assess, even during his precious thinking time. If he ever decided to share his woes with Parrish, he'd probably get John committed...

He was settled at his desk, a half drank, lukewarm cup of coffee to his right, and a small stack of unfinished reports at his left. Normally by now, he'd have gone to refill his empty coffee cup, and the finished reports would be neatly filed away, the chunk of his desk empty and ready for the next day. But today, instead of working, he was staring dumbly at the time table Stiles had drawn out for him.

They'd gone back and filled in Peter's schedule, noticeably more bare than his own, and circled days and times that were always clear for both of them. It was nerve wracking to look at, really. Just a silly little piece of paper with Stiles' doodles and multi-colored writings, but it still set John on edge. Of course, John assumed things would stay mostly platonic- well... not platonic exactly, but not sexual. The first night had been a fluke on Peter's part, and apparently... he didn't plan for a repeat. That had been made clear enough by his attitude. He was grumpy about it, but John didn't exactly blame him. 

He wasn't in control of himself. Peter hadn't _actually_ wanted John like that.

John huffed. It wasn't necessarily that he _wanted_ Peter to want him... like that... but the rejection still hurt, conjuring a small sting in his chest. It had been good. _Amazing_ \--for John anyway... but maybe Peter hadn't thought of it the same way. Hell, Peter might have hated it, mandated by his biology to go ahead with holding John down anyway... to... to do those things.... He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. These were pointless thoughts with no real solutions and he was never going to get any work done sitting around the office waiting for the end of his shift; when he would inevitably meet up with a werewolf that wanted to smell his neck and cuddle the shit out of him, but didn't actually want _him_.

Jesus. This was his life now. He should be writing it down, send it in for a new soap special. 

" _God_." John grumbled.

He stood, grabbed his cold coffee, and headed out of his office to get a new cup. Maybe he'd get a kick start from a fresh shot of caffeine.

Peter was waiting for him by the station's front desk when John's watch finally ticked over to five o'clock. Leaning casually over the desk, flashing a charming smile at the secretary who grinned brilliantly up at him, chin propped up on her arm. It rubbed John the wrong way. He couldn't tell if it was jealousy, anger, or just flat annoyance that made his hair stand on end, but whatever it was, he didn't enjoy it.

He wandered over, careful to keep a polite disposition, "Peter." he greeted, watching the man turn, his smile growing and looking more genuine than it had a minute ago.

"John." he nodded, stepping away from the desk and ignoring the secretary.

It made John feel a little more at ease to see it, but he was far from admitting that. He kicked himself mentally and nodded back to Peter.

* * *

"Are you hungry?" Peter asked, crossing the counter and entering the loft's kitchen.

John huffed, "You're going to cook me something?"

Yanking the fridge open, Peter grinned. He pulled out a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon, ignoring the way John chuckled at him, "And _breakfast_ too?"

"I'm afraid I only know how to make "morning after eggs"." 

"You grabbed bacon too though." John pointed out, plopping himself down at the table anyway and pointedly ignoring Peter's offhanded sex life comment.

As Peter set to work pulling out a few dishes and a stray pan hiding under the counters, he shrugged, placing a few eggs next to the stove, "I like it raw myself... but it's just cooked, right? Toss it in a pan and it should be simple. What could go wrong?"

Derek's kitchen was tiny, with about half a counter between the stove and the fridge. The table looked busted and worn, the washed-out wood chipping at the ends, sloppy, mismatched chairs set up in a set of six around it. It wasn't a big table either. John tried to imagine all the teenagers stuffed together around it, Derek and Peter would probably be the oldest ones at the table. He imagined a warm, family atmosphere. One his son was a part of.

"Happy?"

John stumbled out of his thoughts, jerking his head up in time to see Peter peeking at him over his shoulder questioningly, cracking eggs into the pan, "Oh, uh, yeah. Kind of." he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck before grinning, "Thinking about what it's like with all the members of Mystery Inc. here."

Peter outright laughed, flipping on the stove on, "I can't _believe_ I hadn't thought of that one myself yet."

John smirked back at him, encouraged, "Moon rises and they all turn into Scooby Doo."

"Oh, John," he grinned, shaking his head with a tsk, an awfully delighted smile on his face, "don't let the pups hear you call them Great Danes. Erica will claw your eyes out just to prove a point."

"She can be Scrappy then."  

"Ha!" Peter brought a hand to his head, laughter bubbling up through him and causing a warm sound to flounder through the loft. It made John simper. "You sound just like your son! I can see where he gets it now." 

John huffed, dropping his arms onto the table and leaning over them, "I'm not sure if that's a compliment, or if you're mocking my son's sense of humor." he paused, "Or mine for that matter." 

The pan started to sizzle, and Peter scraped a rubber spatula along it's bottom, peeling the egg up from the bottom before stabbing a piece of still-raw bacon with a fork and lifting it into his mouth. "It's _wonderful_." He replied, swallowing down his chunk of raw pig and reveling in John's little, slightly disgusted grimace. "It must be a Stilinski gift." 

John snorted, "Actually, I think he gets most of it from his-" he paused and Peter stilled beside the counter. 

He hadn't exactly meant to say that. Talking about your dead wife with a man you'd slept with a few nights previous was certainly a way to kick off conversation though. He hadn't meant to say it, it had just slipped out... He let his head hang, just a fraction, before lifting it once more, determined to keep a level head and remain steel, "Claudia was an amazing woman." he said, determination filling his voice, "I think Stiles gets a lot of his good qualities from her." he watched silently as Peter nodded, dutifully returning to the stove.

The smallest tint of guilt flowed through him again, pulling at him to continue. No matter how much he loved her, it was probably still fairly cruel to bring it up to Peter of all people. John sighed, raking a hand over the back of his neck, "Sorry." he offered. 

"There's no need to apologize." Peter chided, "I'm no stranger to grief, or loss." 

Oh. Right. John remembered the Hale fire, he'd been assigned to the case. He'd read the files, seen all the bodies... Though, he supposed they weren't just bodies to Peter. They were his family, people he knew, they were Claudias and Stiles. "Did you ever catch who really set that fire?" he asked, hoping it was an alright topic, while they were on it, "Now that I know Derek wasn't responsible..." 

"He was." Peter bit, then shook his head, almost fighting with himself, "In a way, he was... It wasn't exactly his fault, but you could say he was the first domino. Poor idiot decided to take all the blame on himself just because of it." Peter scrambled the eggs again, "A hunter. Pretty creature, much too old for him, too brash. We didn't like her, but... he seemed happy. At the time." 

"He dated a hunter?" John questioned, voice raising in pitch, surprised. 

"She tricked him." Peter growled, snarling down at the dead chicks sizzling in his pan, like they were to blame, " It wasn't the same as dating. She _seduced him_. She and her self-righteous family set that fire, but there's not exactly anything we can do about it." he grunted, "Can't prove it." with a teasing grin, he lifted his head in John's direction, "And we _certainly_ can't kill them, not with such honor bound sheriffs running around, being model citizens and all." 

John decided not to press it any further, and didn't rise to Peter's bait. As much as he would have liked to, it seemed humor was how Peter liked to defuse the blow of important moments. He'd done it the other day at John's house, and here again, now. Knowing the pain and anger of such loss himself, he knew that treating such manners lightly, even with depreciating jokes, had the potential to make it worse.

 In Claudia's case, sickness had killed her, not a person. But if John thought for one second he could have reached in and pulled the sickness out from her head, had something solid wriggling in his hands to suffocate and take revenge on, he damn well would have. He couldn't even imagine what it was like knowing who killed your family, and being unable to do a thing about it. 

Well, he could understand the latter. At least their deaths weren't drawn out over the span of months... He didn't have to watch them slowly lose themselves.

"Fun fact about werewolves," Peter announced, scraping half the eggs onto a plate John hadn't realized had been set out, "we can smell emotions." 

John stared, frowning as Peter placed the messy pile of eggs in front of him, leaning against the table in favor of returning to the stove, "That's... nice?" 

"I can smell yours." Peter continued, leaning forward, into John's space and giving an abrasive sniff, "And I don't like the way grief smells on you." 

Before John had the chance to reply, Peter's foot hooked one of the legs of his chair, dragging him closer. Peter's body remained to the side of John's, he wasn't necessarily looming over him in the same fashion he had the first time, but his head strayed forward, across John's chin and into the juncture of neck on his opposite side. If John tried to stand, he'd bump right into Peter's chest, blocking his escape. It was so reminiscent of the night Peter had barged in and-- John felt images stir in his brain.

With a huff, Peter extended an arm to the back of John's chair, clutching the wood near his shoulder and using it for leverage to keep himself upright. He sniffed along the line of John's neck, a pleasant rumble building in his chest, almost like a purr, "Better," Peter mumbled, "but not quite there yet." 

The unspoken question dying on his lips, John jerked with a gasp when Peter's (unnaturally sharp) teeth bit a quick line into his earlobe, a low growl in his ear as Peter licked a stripe from the edge of John's shirt to just under his ear, still purring happily. John didn't know what he was supposed to do, shellshocked. He shifted just a little in his seat when Peter began to mouth at what he could of John's neck, the pleasant rumblings he was hearing translating into a dim vibration on the sensitive points of his neck. It amazed him that Peter, yet again, knew _exactly_ which bits of his skin responded to sensations. It amazed him even more just how _quickly_ an old fart like himself had been turned on by it.

John gripped the seat where he sat with tight knuckles. 

"There it is." Peter hummed, sucking in a deep breath through his nose, "Much better." 

John's eyes ruefully cracked open. He wasn't even aware he'd closed them, "What is-? Peter, the bacon!" 

The momentary confusion on Peters face flickered into a tight look of dread as he pulled away from John, flipping himself off and around the table before quickly darting to the stove, " _Shit_." he cursed, the stinging spray of bacon drippings flying left and right, catching his hand a few times as he tried to quiet the raging flame that had taken over while he'd been paying attention to John.

He tossed the pan back and forth a few times between his hands before unceremoniously plopping it into the ratty sink, flipping on the water quick as he could and dousing the flame. Peter's back was to John, the wolf staring down into the sink with slumping shoulders. "What?" John asked, "Did you ruin the pan?"

Shaking his head, peter turned, his hand emerging from the cover of the sink holding what looked like a wet piece of char. "I know it's _supposed_ to be crispy, but..." he huffed, a self depreciating laugh jostling his arms as he held out the burnt offering to John. He grumped, waiting until John had chuckled at the dripping piece of burnt bacon before chucking it back into the sink with it's dead brethren, a determined pout on his face. "I'll make you some more." 

John rose from his seat, latching loosely onto Peter's arm before he could go for the bacon package, laughing, "E-heh-Eggs is just fine, Peter." he chortled, "Stiles has been hounding me to eat less red meat anyway." 

Peter huffed, obviously miffed, but nodded, leaning his nose into John's space and rubbing his face against his cheek, even as John chuckled. "Happy. I can provide for my mate," Peter muttered, so low under his breath that John wondered if he was even aware of his own words, "will prove it next time." he said.

John decided not to question it, just chalked it up to the strange behavioral habits of werewolves and gave Peter one small returning scrape of stubble before leading him back to the table. He was rather hungry, but the food was good enough that he didn't really miss the bacon. They ate their eggs with a few jokes, some war stories from Peter's cooking past, and Stiles' menu horrors that made Peter cringe and sympathetically side with John's case. Asparagus, celery, peppers and spinach were not meant to be cooked in an omelette. It was companionable; their time, comfortable, and John felt himself grinning around his fork most of their meal. He hadn't smiled so much in quite a while. 

He was happy, and maybe that meant this whole thing wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they could be friends.


	5. "Eggs and Bacon"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Short update. Just a little bit of cute filler really. :) I've been kinda of all over the place and hitting some writers block. I'm looking for a job currently and just haven't had the time to write... but then when I do... I just don't have much. :( It's sucked.

It had gone good, _great_ even, much better than Peter had been expecting. With his instincts all awry, his motivations driven by the wolf, he'd thought having a few hours with John alone might draw out another involuntary reaction. But... It hadn't. In fact... it had gone  _well_. 

As Peter swept the plates into the sink, too high on endorphins to really care about the domesticity of the action, he began humming. One of the tunes he remembered from years ago, during the time music drifted peacefully through the old house often, Derek's mother helping him dry as the young boy washed and _his_ mother pulled dishes from the dining room and onto the counter beside him. One two three, one two three, a melody that sounded like the embodiment of trotting through the woods in wolf form, the light dancing through the cracks between fir needles. It was reminiscent. It was home. It was joy. He felt real joy again.

Peter wanted to take a moment to let it set in. He was  _happy._ He'd been in control the _entire time_ he'd spent with John. They'd made good conversation, eaten a dish he'd cooked and even flirted a little. Teenage bliss bubbled up in his belly as he replayed the last few hours in his head. It had been a hell of a lot like a date. 

A perfectly civilized, delightful, _date_ with _John_.

Peter was whistling when Derek entered the loft, a triumphant grin plastered of his face, so out of character that the sight made Derek pause in the doorway with a concerned furrow of his brow, as Derek often had. It was amusing to see Derek make that worried face for _him_ though. Peter watched him take a cautious step forward, observing Peter with hesitant eyes, "I'm not going to bite." He chortled, finishing up the last of the dishes and putting away the plate John had eaten from with a content smile. 

"You look... happy." 

"I _am_ happy, darling nephew." Peter smirked, drying his hands and turning, "My instincts didn't do a _damn thing_ this time." 

He watched Derek's eyebrow raise, a twitch over his lips, not _quite_ a smirk, but getting there. "You didn't-?" 

"Nope." He held up the last clean plate, flicking his wrist from side to side and waving it like a tambourine, "Eggs and bacon. Well..." he paused, " _eggs_..." 

"You made him breakfast?" Derek huffed, "At- what? Five o'clock?" he continued, glancing up at the clock on the wall.

"Oh please," Peter snorted, packing the dish into the cupboard, "As if you and Stiles never made pancakes in the middle of the night. Oh yes. I noticed. Keen sense of smell doesn't even need to be a factor with you two." He smirked, making sure his words would ooze with dirty undertone, "You're _loud_." 

"That was Stiles. He has the energy of a three year old." Derek retorted, a pleased grin on his face even as he crossed his arms, "He was hungry for pancakes." 

"And you, his ever dependable Alpha, made him some, right?" Peter leered. "Provided for him?"

The short snarl Derek offered him was irritable and flat, no real heat behind it, but a small warning not to push too much. Peter didn't really care. He was happy. It played well to his wolf, having fed and pleased his would-be-mate and sent him on his way well looked after; with a fully belly and a big smile. Of course, it would have been even better if he'd gotten to keep him overnight... but they were working on that part. Peter needed to keep his cool about it. He could be a gentlemen. 

...If he tried hard enough.

* * *

"It was good. He was better today." 

Stiles watched John fold his coat in half over an arm, draping it over the couch after it seemed rightly crease-less. "Peter?" Stiles clarified from his seat amongst the cushions, "He didn't go all...?" John had a moment to wonder where all of  _his_ genes went when Stiles raised his hands beside his cheeks in mock claws, lips curled in a non-threatening, split second snarl, imitating a werewolf. He looked ridiculous.

"No." he huffed once, on principal, before smiling, " _In fact_ ," he continued, deciding to grab himself a beer from the fridge, pointedly not looking at his son as he adds, "I had a good time." 

As Stiles' ears perk up his head rises. His face alight with an impish grin stretched out along his cheeks as he spun around in his seat, knees up on the sofa and chest leaning over its back, "Really?" He asked, resting his bony arms over the back with ease.

"Really, really." 

" _Soooo?_ " Stiles pressed, "I need details! Did you use protection?" 

"Is that _my_ parenting showing, or your mother's?" 

"Yes." 

The sheriff snorted, twisting the IPA in his hand and staring at the label with critique, "My apologies then. And even though it's none of your business, no. We didn't... _do_ anything." 

"Really?" 

"Really, really." 

Stiles stood from the couch and trotted over to the kitchen, jumping up onto the counter beside the fridge and lightly swinging his legs, "Did you _want_ to do something?" 

"I am _not_ going to have a conversation about my sex life with my _son_ , Stiles." 

"Why not? I'm kind of the only one you _can_ talk about it with. I mean, a therapist probably wouldn't receive the whole "werewolf fuck buddy" thing very well." 

"We're  _not_ fuck buddies." John grunted, he set the beer back down and decided tonight was a night for something stronger than beer. Because Stiles wasn't one to let this kind of thing go. They were doing this. Stiles was going to _make_ him do this. He sighed, "I'm gonna have whiskey."

"You're going to need to eat better dad, even if it's not my say so. Werewolf stamina is like ten times-"

"Stiles." he snapped, raising a hand, "I don't want to have to think about how you know that." The sheriff scoffed as he pulled a half glass down from a cupboard, "Or at least not have to talk about it."

"Fine, fine." Stiles conceded, lifting his arms in mock surrender, "But you should eat better." 

"I eat just fine." 

"It'll make your cum tastier..." 

"Stiles! Oh my god!" 

"What?" He huffed, "I'm just trying to help you out. I know for a fact it's been years since you've had any-"

"I will disown you. Right here and now, boy."

"Alright! Alright, I surrender!" He relented, pushing off the counter and giving his dad one last smirk and a quick, "I'm glad you're happy." before trotting up the stairs to his bedroom. 

John smiled around his whiskey before decidedly downing it with a wince.


	6. "The Great Effect"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm slow on the updates. It's... been a crazy time. I haven't had any time or mind to write, I lost my hubby and my job, now I'm trying to plan for moving state and starting school and I'm dealing with a lot of mental struggles on top of it all... but I gotta say it's really good to get back into the flow. Slow as it may come. Thank you for sticking with me! So sorry about the wait, I hope you understand.

Deaton lifted an otoscope to Peter's eye, the bright, blinding light bringing out the tints of purple hiding in his irises. Peter tried to ignore the light as he rested his weight against the examination table, leaning casually. Derek sat near, watching with curiosity as Deaton switched to the other eye. 

"And you say you had less problems with your feral state this time you met with him?" 

"Yeah." Peter huffed, "I slipped a little when I was within inches of him, but it was just for a few seconds." 

"Mmhm." Deaton replied, finally retracting the intrusive light. 

Derek lowered his brow, "That's a good thing right?" 

"Well..." Deaton began, "Yes. I believe that having spent more time with him you've been able to appease your wolf a little." 

Deaton set the otoscope down on the counter, returning now with a small packet that he tore open as he turned. "I'm just going to see if there's much residue left on your skin. Maybe because you didn't ingest it it's affects won't last as long. They might even be gone already. I'm optimistic. It's unusual that you would have had no reaction." 

"Like I said, it wasn't that there was _no_ reaction... just... less than it was before. I was in control of my body." 

Deaton nodded as he pulled a small cloth from the torn packaging and swiped it across Peter's arm, "Well, I'm still optimistic." 

"Should he keep seeing the sheriff?" Derek asked, arms crossed where he sat, as usual. The boy really didn't know how to relax.

"Oh of course." Deaton smiled, wiping a patch of skin with a tiny cloth and storing it away, "In fact, I'd say see him more if you can. No telling if this is the effects wearing off or a result of your close proximity. Either way, can't hurt. It can only help." 

Derek hummed and Peter gave a bright nod. As if he had any issues with seeing John more. He'd still need to be good about keeping his wolf on a leash, but just the thought of spending more time with the man made him feel lighter. That happy feeling of humming old songs in the kitchen returning to him like a hit of the best drug imaginable. Peter felt like he could float away. "I'll be a good patient doc, in fact!" He jeered, straightening up from his slouched position, "I think I'm gonna go take a little of my prescription right now! Man could probably use a good coffee." 

"Careful with the scenting in public." Deaton warned, but his tone was teasing and his smile was warm. 

Peter saluted the pair of them from the doorway with a wide grin, "Will do Doc."

* * *

There were many more pleasant dates after the first breakfast in the loft. Peter had made good on his promise to deliver a coffee. It was a adorable watching the sheriff blush with surprise when he'd arrived, graciously accept his five dollar coffee and discard the substandard office brew. After that, he'd taken John out to dinner at a decent restaurant, to a movie John had been keen on seeing, and there was a night in with a bottle of scotch, some old records playing in the background and good conversation. Sometimes it was as simple as joining him and Stiles for dinner. They were simple men, their 'dates' weren't really extravagant, and that was perfect.

They were properly dating now. Real, proper boyfriends and... John felt happy about it. It was weird at first, admittedly; realizing that he and Peter were, in fact, considered boyfriends. That was such a young man's word. He felt too old to be smiling to himself over having a "boyfriend". If he wasn't careful he might find himself up at late hours in his nightgown on the phone, twirling either his hair or the phone extension and kicking up his feet for  _Peter Hale_. His boyfriend. Peter Hale, _his boyfriend_. What a juvenile concept to try and grasp. But... if John was being honest, he liked it. 

John started to really enjoy having someone he could talk to about his day. After exchanging numbers, Peter had started sending him texts or sometimes calling him after work. Only, of course, if he hadn't already decided to come visit. On more than one occasion Peter had shown up with some good alcohol and a pizza, ignoring Stiles' grumbling over the carbs and lack of any toppings other than meat. The last time Peter had dropped by, he'd plonked himself down on the couch and let John rest his head in his lap as he ranted about the stress of his work. 

There were times when their meetings were more heated, but Peter had been better about warning John beforehand when something was off. Whether his wolf was more rambunctious than usual or John happened to smell particularly good, he'd let him know. Of course, John had stopped minding when Peter got so close. He'd become comfortable with the proximity of Peter slinking up behind him and snaking an arm around his waist, nose buried in his neck and he'd learned to love the feeling of Peter's stubble scraping against his skin as he nuzzled him. 

However, as he grew more comfortable, John could tell that Peter grew more restless. John's shirt would snag on his jacket as he removed it to reveal the slightest hint of his belly and he could catch the way Peter tried to pretend he wasn't looking. He saw the dissatisfied frown Peter dawned when John was fresh from a shower, scent no doubt dulled by the strong smell of his shampoo. Or John would snuggle with Peter... Chest to chest or chest to back, and sometimes catch Peter's eyes, glazed over as they stared at him. Peter's face often exuded a hunger that both scared and excited John to no end. It was a look he hadn't seen since his drunken college party days. That lustful, crazy gaze in the eyes that begged for touch, _to_ touch, anything. He recognized it as the desire that it was, but still had absolutely no idea how to respond. 

The last time they had been alone together it was after a dinner with the boys. Derek and Stiles had gone to meet with the pack, leaving the two men to sit quietly on the couch and digest. John flipped through channels for a bit before settling on the news, watching half heartedly as he allowed himself to curl back into the crook of Peter's arm, now resting over the back of the couch. He felt so content when nesting in Peter's arms. It was a new sensation, to be the one held instead of being the holder, but John would admit that he liked it. 

After a long day of being in charge of everyone at work, holding up all the other deputies, it was nice to come home and unwind. He let himself be cared for and honestly, it had been improving his overall mood, even at work. He loved this change of pace. He loved being around Peter, and he was starting to wonder if by this point he was allowed to say that he loved Peter too. 

* * *

Peter tilted his head towards John's with a smile, burying his nose in the sandy strands of his hair and taking a calming breath. 

It was, admittedly, becoming harder to handle himself around John than it had been before. Deaton's theory must have been wrong. There was no way the effects had worn off. He could feel the pull whenever he touched John, the intense longing that caused his chest to pain. He wanted to mate John. He wanted to call him his own, stake a claim and make sure that the whole world knew he was Peter's. 

Boldly, Peter shifted his face downward, nose tickling the nape of John's neck as he nuzzled. He fought the pleased rumble in his throat, trying to be sly as he slipped his free hand from his lap onto John's knee. John's scent thickened in the most delicious of ways as he did.

"You smell great." he purred, wishing he could nuzzle even further into John. 

The Sheriff chuckled, "Thanks. Is it gonna be a problem?" he asked, genuine in his concern as always, "Should I sit on the other side of the couch?" 

The rumble did leave Peter then, but in distress rather than pleasure, "Nooo, " he groaned, voice nearly in a tired slur, "stay here." 

Peter relished the pleasant laugh John gave, the small tweaks of happiness in his scent adding fuel to the fire. He smelled amazing when he laughed, so happy and carefree. It made the brown of the whiskey more sharp, the baked goods sweeter, and the smoky musk centered. It enhanced his (already enchanting) scent and Peter felt weak against him. He was getting drunk on it, relaxing his body and resting his weight on John as he swept his arm from the back of the couch around John, cradling him with a firm hand on his chest. He nuzzled further against John and let the hand on John's knee slide up a few inches. 

"Peter, you're... you're purring." John gasped, losing his breath then Peter moved his mouth from the nape of John's neck to the crook, perfectly slotted where he could bite. 

"Can I?" Peter begged, sliding his hand up John's leg ever further, one finger barely touching John's groin. 

John's breathing was getting heavier, "Can you what?" 

"I want to touch you." 

"You're already-"

"I want to bite you."

"T-That's..."

"Want to fuck you..." 

John choked, "Sweet _Jesus_! Peter!"

The sharp teeth of a longing wolf danced around the skin of John's neck, not biting, content just to tease. A pleasant purr of satisfaction slipped form Peter's mouth when John gasped and brought a hand up to Peter's chest. "If you bite me I'll-" 

"I won't bite with these teeth." he promised, retracting his fangs and proving his honestly by dragging human teeth along the same spot, "Won't turn you." 

"Why do you need to bite me?" John asked, arching his neck anyway and giving Peter more room to roam.

"Claim you..." Peter hummed, rubbing his nose against John.

John would admit he had started to find comfort in Peter's nuzzles. He enjoyed the feeling of being so wanted, almost needed. The warmth of another face pressed beside his own and the cozy rumble he could feel in Peter's chest whenever he got to hold the sheriff. 

"But..." John exhaled, turning into mush when the hand Peter had patiently left on his thigh finally began to touch him, "But I'm already yours?" 

Peter's head lifted then, surprise evident in his eyes as he stared at John. "What?" 

"I already agreed to the whole... mates thing." he continued, bringing a hand up to crandle the back of Peter's neck, "I know what I agreed to." 

"We... mate for life you know. I'll never want anyone else." John's hand drifted to his cheek and Peter happily rubbed his face against it, "Even if you get sick of me and decide to leave." 

"I wouldn't just up and leave-" 

"I know you wouldn't." He smiled. 

With great care, Peter moved forward, pressing his forehead against John's in a gesture that promised love and honesty, "That's one of the things I love about you." 

John chuckled, both arms wrapping around Peter's neck as he pulled him in for a hug, "Thank you." He encouraged Peter to rest his weight against him, leaving them chest to chest, "I'll probably never understand why you fell for an old guy like me." 

Peter pulled back, grinning ear to ear, "Let me show you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already guessed the next chapter will be lots of smut...


	7. "Does this count?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I didn't realize it's been a while since I wrote some honest smut. It took me a while to get through this one but I'm very pleased with the end result. :) Literally just a chapter of smut~

Peter hands were blessed with an intimate tenderness as he lowered John onto the bed, kissing a trail from his neck down his chest as he went. It's foreign to him; holding onto someone with such carefulness. Peter is used to grabbing rough fistfulls of someone before hurling them across the room, not gently caressing them onto their back. This is so different from everything else he's done with his life that it nearly makes him pause... but John looks up at him with lidded, beautiful eyes and he forgets why he would _ever think_  to hesitate. 

He doesn't understand how he got here, with such a brilliant soul willing to cling onto him between the sheets, but he's ever so grateful for it. 

It's quiet and meaningful; the two of them falling in to bed like this. Peter sucks small hickeys into John's chest as he unbuttons his shirt, marking the skin as it's revealed to him. He lives for every breathy groan John gives him and hangs on the cut off sound of desperation that comes when he finally unbuckles John's belt.

Getting John out of his clothes this time is a privilege that Peter takes at a snail's pace. It's not rushed like their first romp on the couch. That had been fueled by instinct. Peter's sober this time, still reeling a little at just how beautiful his bed partner is. He's slow as he slips the pants from John's legs, letting his fingers ghost down his skin in a form of worship. He kisses John's inner thigh before continuing down to John's ankles.

"Peter..." John breathes, the name slipping from his mouth in a pleasured sigh.

Peter leans up to catch John's mouth in his own, happy when John slips his fingers into Peter's hair and tugs softly. They're level now, Peter knelt between John's open legs and kissing with a passion he hasn't felt since he lost his family all those years ago; joy ripped away from him. He's rebuilding that now, here with John, and the idea fills him up with such merriment he feels a little drunk on it. Peter slips his arms behind John's back, pulling him close until they're chest to chest and he can bury his face in John's neck. 

John tries to tug his shirt up, breaking the kiss for just a moment so he can order Peter out of it. He's reluctant to let go of John to do it, but complies, settling him back against the mattress before sitting up to pull the fabric over his head. There's a little more rustling before he's got his own pants off, falling right back into his honored place between John's legs. That's what it is to be there, his _honor_. That such a strong man as John let him lay there; let him kiss at his neck and brush his hand over his exposed parts. It's a privilege to have a place in John's heart and in his bed. 

"I love you." He decides, one hand on John slowly dragging up and down, the other cupping John's cheek as he stares at him.

John gasps, shutting his eyes and shifting his hips up into Peter's hand. "I..." 

Peter attaches his lips to John's again before he can say anything else. He doesn't have the heart to hear any resistance in John's voice right now. He doesn't need to know if John returns the sentiment just yet. He wants to keep this moment between them charged and unbreakable. He'd kill for it. He'd kill for John. In a heartbeat. 

John doesn't protest, just clings to Peter's shoulders as he coaxes John into thrusting up in his hand. 

"Do you have any lube?" he asks, gliding his free hand up John's thigh and hiking it over his hip. 

He pushed their bodies together, sighing when they connect, naked skin on skin and deliriously delicious friction making him want to toss his head back and howl. John moans, but shakes his head. 

"Could you turn over for me?" 

Peter smiles when he obediently rolls. On his stomach, ass in the air and damn near _presenting_ for Peter, he's too gorgeous for words. The sight takes Peter's breath away and he doesn't know if it's instinct driving him forward or just the insane thrum of his heart. He leans close, spreading John's cheeks so that he can press his tongue to a fluttering rim. The responding surprised whine is music to his ears.

John's breath catches and he squirms, "I'm not... I don't know if you should really..." he stumbles, drunken on lust but not enough to fully squash his embarrassment, "Isn't that gross?"

"You showered after getting home from work." Peter says, an answer rather than a question.

"I did, but... it's still..."

" _I want to_."

He licks a single stripe over his hole before driving his tongue inside. John's writhing back against his tongue in moments, groaning, grunting, _grinding_ and it's suddenly become such a power trip for Peter. He's got Beacon Hill's sheriff riding his face and begging like Peter owns him. And Peter wants that. He wants to _own him_. It's delicious and makes him damn near _delirious_. He adds a finger from each hand alongside his tongue before he can think twice and John positively  _keens_. He's spreading John wide with his fingers and fucking him open with his tongue and it's everything Peter never knew he wanted.

"Peter!" John cries, voice ragged and strained.

He hums in reply, but doesn't remove himself from between John's legs. 

"I... I think I'm..." John tries, interrupting himself with small moans now and then, "I haven't done this but... but I _need._ "

Peter gets the message, but he spends a few more moments lapping up John's musk with fever before he decides to abide. His jaw is a little strained when he spits into his hand, but it's a good kind of soreness that only serves to excite him more. He slicks himself up as best he can and drapes his body over Johns carefully, sure not to startle him. He can feel John flinch when the head of Peter's cock first taps against his hole. _He needs to relax._ Peter nibbles softly on John's neck in an effort to distract him from it. He gets a pleased mumbling of his name for the effort. 

The first slow push pops his head just past the rim and leaves John sounding  _wrecked_. He's making wet, obscene sounds that Peter decides no one else _ever_ has any right to hear. He'll keep John locked away from the ears of the rest of the world. He stills like that, making sure it's not too much too soon and giving John a moment to get accustomed to it. It feels like _torture_ not to just thrust into John's welcoming heat. He wants to ruin him, _ignite his skin with pleasure_ but he wouldn't do anything that could hurt John. So he stays still, wraps an arm around John's waist and works through it with his forehead pressed between John's shoulders. 

It's a horrible shock when the sudden violent urge to _claim_ overcomes him. There isn't any time to place it or where it comes from before Peter is moving, like he doesn't have control of his body anymore. He's pushing in before he can stop himself, fingers digging into John's hips like a vice, no doubt going to bruise later. 

John lets out a cry, but doesn't seem too pained, thank God. 

His breath comes out in a rasp as he moans, chokes on a sob and _pushes back against Peter_. 

And damn if that isn't too tempting to pass over. 

Peter pushes right back, thrusting into John with a newfound abandon, his brain running circles with the idea that there's no time for slowness. He needs to do this _now,_ before someone can take John away from him. He bites into the skin of John's shoulder blade and devours the responding whine, his pace never slowing even as he worries if he'd bitten too hard. He only knows that he has to. He _needs_ to bite all across John's unmarked skin. He _needs_ to stake his claim on John before someone else realizes what a rarity he really is. John is _his_.

He can feel the moment his knot starts to swell, arousal pooling in his belly and Peter just wants to hold John down by the throat and keep him there until he's squealing Peter's name as he fills him with cum; as he claims him in the most carnal way. 

John gasps, startled, when he feels the round of Peter's knot bumping against his rim with every thrust, "P-Peter?!"

Peter grunts, fights every desperate call of the wolf telling him to just shove it all in and presses his cheek to John's ear, "Not-- _ngh_ \--Not putting it in." he assures, "Don't worry."

He gets a hand around John's cock in apology for frightening him, pumping in rhythm with his trusts as best he can. It's an awkward angle that strains his wrist, but it's worth it to hear John start to wail. His head hangs lifelessly after all is said and done, cum splattered on the sheets beneath them as John softens in his hand. 

It's easy to follow. Peter's body works almost on it's own, blood thrumming with the fire of that _stupid drug_ and forcing him to take without care. But it's _not_ without care. He forces his fingers to loosen their grip on John's hips and licks at the red marks he'd bitten into John's back. He feels the tension built up by the drug drain out of him with his orgasm, his wolf evidently appeased with this much. The control comes racing back to him and the intense need quickly fades. 

Peter pulls out slowly, feeling satisfied as he watches his cum follow, dripping from John's stretched rim in a lewd display of Peter's ownership. It's such a delicious sight that he briefly thinks about diving back in to lick it all up, maybe use his tongue to push some of it back inside. John turns onto his side before Peter can get the chance. He can do that another time.

He follows John's leading hand on his head, capturing the sheriff's lips kissing him softly. It feels like sweet victory when he pulls back and sees the lazy grin John wears. Peter wants to shift and run around after his tail, but he's pressed for breath and decides he fancies the idea of snuggling up close to John more than wolfing-out. 

He huffs, dropping to John's side and laying so that it's easy to slip a hand into John's sweaty hair. 

He's worried that maybe he went too far towards the end, wanting to offer explanation in terms of the serum. If he'd known it would take him over like that... he'd have fought a little longer with himself about pulling John into bed, but he's sure he couldn't have resisted completely. He's startled from his guilt when John chuckles at him with a breathy smile. 

"Did... Did that count as us...?" 

"Us...?" Peter repeats in question, huffing a little himself in pleasant exhaustion. 

John takes a breath, humming happily as Peter plays with his hair, "Did we just 'mate'?" 

Peter chokes on the air for a second before he can hold back his snicker. He falls onto his back beside John and wipes some of the sweat from his forehead, still chuckling when John smacks him for it. 

"No, that wasn't mating, that was sex. Very _good_ sex." Peter smiles, pulling John to his chest and nuzzling the top of his head, "When we mate, it will be different. I'll give you my mating bite..." 

"And that thing?" John smirks, nonchalantly running a finger along the base of Peter's softened penis, right where his knot would be, enjoying the rumbling moan it pulls out of Peter, "Will _that_ be... in me when we do?"  

"It's... a part of it." Peter admits, enjoying the feel of John's hand, "But I promise I won't hurt you." 

John scoffs playfully, rubbing his cheek against Peter's chest, "Isn't that what teenagers say before they take your virginity?" 

"You have a lot of experience with lying teenage boys promising you the best?" The wolf grins, canines showing at the corners of his mouth as he smiles. 

"Shut up." 

They laugh together, and John can feel the warm vibrations from where his head connects with Peter's chest. It's such a sweet and intimate feeling, being here with Peter... like _this_. It's freeing. He wants to laugh, curl up and let their shared happiness heat the space around them. It's a cozy feeling that leaves nothing to be desired. John as _everything_. Right here. With Peter.


	8. "Kinda Freaky"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This chapter gave me some real block and took quite a while, I apologize. But it's out! And the next chapters should come out more quickly now that I have an ending I want in sight. :) (I also spent this month mapping out the next/last few chapters)
> 
> Also, please remember this isn't edited. If you happen to catch a mistake, let me know so I can swoop in and fix it up! :)

Stiles convinced John and Peter to come to a dinner at Derek's loft with the promise that the boys would be taking care of all the cooking. It felt a little like Stiles' subtle way of checking in on the two of them, but Peter didn't comment on it. Peter had no doubt that Stiles would be wondering about the progress in his and John's relationship, but it was well worth the risk. When they had received the invitation, John had absolutely litten up, smiling at Peter like his son had just offered him the world in the form of a sly little text message. It didn't initially make sense to Peter, until he remembered that John really didn't get out much. He'd probably only ever had dinners in with his son after his wife's death, and he imagined even those were scarce after Scott had been bitten and Stiles was whisked away into the world of the supernatural.

He didn't want to dwell on John's happily married life though, not tonight. While he wanted-- _with all of his being_ \--to support John in every way he could, there were still little flickers of jealousy that poked at him when he thought about John and his late wife. Because John had been _happily_ _married_ before he'd entered a relationship with Peter.

Peter couldn't offer the same kind of white picket fence life that she had. Peter also couldn't promise children. Sure, it happened in some rare occasions; mates could certainly get pregnant under the right circumstances and with some effort... but for people getting up there in years like he and John were, it was pretty close to impossible. Not that Peter believed he was ready to handle pups anyway.

Especially not if they would come to be as erratic and energized as Stiles Stilinski.

He pushed all of these hesitant thoughts from his mind as they walked up to the sliding door of Derek's loft. John held a store bought loaf of garlic bread protectively against his chest while Peter knocked, one hand resting reassuringly on John's lower back. 

The door was answered by a very grumpy looking Derek. 

...In an apron. 

Peter thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his effort not to laugh. Whatever gift from the Gods this was, he was sure he could thank Stiles for it. The "Werewolf? There wolf" logo printed across the breast and the strikingly bright (near _pink_ ) purple gave him away. 

John, however, _did_ laugh, and greeted Derek with a pat on the back and a fond apology for his son's shenanigans. 

Stiles poked his head out a moment later, a spaghetti server in one hand and a similarly bad apron with a "Kiss the cook but don't touch the buns" design. The two were, for lack of a word that wouldn't upset Derek enough to throttle him, completely adorable. 

Peter is pretty certain that if nothing else, the night will definitely prove to at least be entertaining.

* * *

 "And when they shift--" Stiles started, gesturing with his hands excitedly, "It's just amazing. I thought Scott looked cool the first time I saw him shift, but _Derek_ is like... he's  _huge_. Alphas are frikin' big." he nudged Derek's arm with a grin, "And they can argue all they want, but they basically all turn into giant puppies. _They like ear scratches_." 

John's laugh was a pleasing rumble that came up from his belly and warmed every inch of Peter's skin. _They were like the very embodiment of happiness_ , he decided. If one was to search for the definition of joy, an audio file of John's chortling would be the result, followed by a picture of his dazzling smile. Peter grinned around a forkful of spaghetti, deciding not to give Stiles too hard a time about mocking them if it meant he'd get to hear some more of John's belly laughs. They made him feel good, and placated every instinct between both Peter _and_ his wolf. Peter decided then and there that his new mission was to make John laugh at least once a day. Simply to appease his wolf, of course, if nothing else. 

"He knows our weakness Derek, you can't ever let him go now." He snorted, shooting Derek a teasing smirk that he'd been absolutely _ecstatic_ to see his nephew return. 

Derek's arm slipped casually over the back of Stiles' chair, not quite touching him, but very pointedly there. It was a small gesture of protection and possession that Peter could recognize; that any _wolf_ would/should recognize, but could go conveniently undetected around humans. Made it easy to display ownership without offending any humans. Sometimes they just didn't quite get it. 

Which was why Peter was completely surprised when John's eye caught the action and his lip twitched upwards, because _he'd noticed it._

Peter wondered vaguely if John would let him get away with something similar, and curiously draped his arm behind John to mimic Derek. 

When John paused, eyed Peter with a grin, then pointedly took a bite of his pasta, Peter felt like he'd won something. 

"You should come next time!" Stiles said excitedly, knocking Peter out of his adoring stare. 

"What?" Peter questioned, almost in sync with Derek's " _Stiles_."

"Oh come on! It'll be fun!" 

Derek quickly retracted his arm from behind Stiles to reach for his water glass, taking a long, drawn out sip to avoid having to be the one to tell Stiles that it might not be such a good idea. 

_Softie._

"You don't think something like a full shift would be too soon for your father?" Peter chided kindly, careful of the wary glance from Derek, "He's only been aware of werewolves for a few months now..."

"Yeah, well, he's gonna see it eventually. If you don't do it now it might come out in the middle of one of the dangerous situations that _always_ come up. This way he doesn't have to just be-" Stiles made some obscenely wide gesture with his hands, "thrust into it all of a sudden." Stiles huffed, and stuffed too big of a bite into his mouth before mumbling out, "So why not?" 

"He has a point." John said, then leveled Stiles with a hard look, "Do I have to be worried about these frequent 'dangerous situations', Stiles?"

Stiles would have choked if Derek hadn't been there to tap him on the back a good few times. 

He coughed, "First of all, _Ow_ , that's definitely going to bruise. Second, dad, I've been doing this since early high school. If I was gonna die-" 

"I won't let anything happen to him, sheriff." Derek interrupted, glaring at Stiles with a 'if you don't shut up, I'll kill you myself' type of expression. 

Stiles ducked his head and smiled sheepishly, "I'm fine dad, really." 

"Good." 

"Maybe you _should_ come." Peter said next, staring into his plate of spaghetti with decisiveness, "Stiles is right." 

"You can't say that _in front_ of him." John chuckled, and knocked Peter's knee with his knuckles. 

"Gee, thanks dad. Good to know you've got so much faith in me." 

John snorted, "I do, but I also know what you're like when you get a big head." 

Derek let out a small huff of air that signified a laugh, and Stiles looked accusingly between him and the sheriff a few times before giving Derek a curt, "Traitor." 

John grinned to Peter, "If you're alright with me being there... I am actually really curious." 

"Just promise you won't run for the hills when you see us running on all fours." 

"You'd probably chase me down if I tried to run, right?" 

A low grumble fell out of Peter's lips before he could stop it. The idea of chasing John through the woods did things to him and his wolf--delighted him in such a way--that Peter wasn't sure if he could even blame the effects of Deaton's pollen-thing for it. Peter found himself shifting closer to John and reflexively dropping his nose between his jaw and shoulder to scent him. John didn't flinch away, but he did stiffen, and Peter couldn't quite understand why. 

He'd slipped a hand over John's knee and lightly nipped at the skin beneath his jaw before he heard Stiles cough loudly, realizing that Stiles had been _repeatedly coughing_ for a little while, trying to get his attention. 

Peter eyed him, then cleared his throat awkwardly and pulled himself back and away, despite the pull of his wolf trying to tug him over and on top of John--who would look so delicious running through the woods, letting Peter chase him down and take him underneath the moonlight-

"Derek." Peter said pointedly, and his nephew was flashing red eyes at him in an instant. 

"Calm down." he ordered politely, a little too placated for an Alpha command in Peter's mind. 

And Peter found himself imagining what it would be like to be in Derek's pack, to actually be his beta and have to obey that command. Slowly, the small pinprick of threat that came from a challenging Alpha became the commanding call of a leader. Peter's head bowed and his shoulders slumped a little, the fight simply draining out of him. Derek seemed taken back, eyes wide in surprise, but Peter was too busy fighting off the intensity of the drug clearly still thrumming underneath his skin to care. He took a deep breath and tried his best to reel it all in again.

John touched his arm gently, almost cautiously, "Peter?" 

"That pollen is still affecting me it seems."

"Do we need to go? I don't mind if we need to go and... umm..." John gave Stiles a wary look and cut himself off. 

For his part, Stiles only huffed, "Dad, it's not like I don't know what you two get up to. For God's sake your neck's got more spots than a _ladybug_. It would be stupid _not_ to see that you guys have been having sex." 

" _Stiles._ "

John looked dumbfounded when Derek beat him to the punch, glaring at his mate sternly.

"Oh _come on_ Derek. I know it's even more obvious to you. He probably smells like-"

"Stop talking. Or you'll be in trouble." 

"Oooh, like last time?" 

"Okay!" John announced awkwardly, standing from his seat and dragging Peter up with him, "On that note, we're gonna get going. Thank you both for this lovely meal and I hope we can do this again sometime soon without any more awkward sexual confessions." he nodded towards Derek politely before giving his son a weary frown, "Be. Good." 

"Mwah?" Stiles asked in mock offence, placing a hand over his chest, "I'm _always_ good." 

The sheriff snorted before pulling his boyfriend out of the loft by the arm, offering words of encouragement to Peter, who had taken to stopping them every few steps to paw at John's jacket and lick at his neck. "Peter, we _can't_ have sex in the hallway." John let out in a hurried whisper. 

Peter huffed, but let himself be led away when he heard Derek's warning growl from behind the loft's door. 

* * *

 On the night of the full moon, Peter was thrumming with nervous anticipation. 

It was entirely unclear if it was simply the moon's energy calling out to his wolf and kickstarting his instincts, or if it was over John coming to see him in full shift for the first time. John had never even seen Peter in a _half shift_ before, and Peter was apprehensive about the whole thing. 

But Stiles was right. It was far better that John see him for the first time here, in a controlled environment surrounded by pack, than in the midst of something foul. It would be more traumatic if he simply held off until he absolutely _had_ to shift in front of John. Not to mention the added bonus of having his mate near during the full moon. 

Peter might (probably would) have sought him out anyway, but here, amidst the safety of pack and the love of his mate, Peter's wolf was practically jumping with excitement, and it promised to be a very good full moon. 

* * *

 "Dad, this is Erica and her mate, Boyd." Stiles introduced happily, gesturing to a drop dead blonde and a handsomely dark man standing quite close to her side. 

John held a hand out and smiled, "John Stilinski." 

"Another Stilinski. How perfect. Are you as fun as Stiles is?" Erica greeted cheerily, taking his hand in a surprisingly firm shake. 

John laughed, "Probably not. Stiles is definitely one of a kind." 

She grinned, then nudged Boyd with her arm, "I told you. I knew I would like you." 

"Thank you?" 

"It's probably a compliment." Stiles said, encouraging him to shake with Boyd, "Just roll with it." 

They came across Scott and Isaac next, and Stiles very pointedly teased Isaac when he introduced him as Scott's new mate. Scott, for his part, rubbed his cheek encouragingly against Isaac's and smiled to the Sheriff before saying, "It's gonna be so much cooler to not keep secrets from you anymore." 

John snorted, "Like this will change that. You'll always be the boy sneaking off to find dead bodies with Stiles." 

"Yeah, but we have an excuse now!" Stiles cheered, clapping his hands together once before ushering his dad over to the porch of Derek's old family house.

"We'll be right here while they shift." Stiles instructed eagerly, "It's gonna be really cool not being the only human hanging off on the sidelines this time." 

"They're all wolves?" John blinked, turning up his head to take in the startling sight of six people currently stripping down, "Stiles!" 

"Relax." Stiles sighed, "Just look away like I do. Or just look at Peter. Sometimes I look at Derek." 

"I didn't need to know that." 

Stiles snorted, "I think seeing everybody so casually naked all the time is part of the reason I'm suddenly a lot cooler with talking to you about this stuff." 

The Sheriff ran a hand over his face tiredly, "I'd really rather you weren't." 

"Who else are you going to freak out with?" 

"Freak out?" 

Stiles grinned, "It's your first time seeing any of this right? I think you'll be glad I'm here." 

John slapped a hand over his son's shoulder, "I'm very glad you're here Stiles, I just don't want to talk about yoursex life." 

"You know, in that parenting book I gave you-"

"Never read it." 

"Why do I even bother then!?" 

John smirked, "I really don't know, you shouldn't." 

"OH! They're starting." Stiles said excitedly, slapping his father's arm and looking on with eagerness. 

John turned his head to where Stiles was pointing, and did his best to keep his breathing under control when the sounds of shifting bones became startlingly easy to hear. There are low growls coming from the group, most of the kids hunching over as their bodies began to change, the more experienced Peter and Derek merely throwing their heads back instead. 

The way hair begins to sprout, their forms grow bigger and angrier, and the loud howl that suddenly rings out had John on edge. He gripped Stiles' hand before he could think about it, ignoring the look his son tosses his way and focusing on the gruesome looking shift.

When it's over and the pack are all fully wolfed out, it's a little easier to watch. 

The blackest wolf howls proudly, and John remembers that it's Derek, their Alpha, when the others call back in response. 

There's a minute moment of hesitation amongst the group, their heads turning towards a dirty brown wolf that looks a little uncomfortable, fidgeting where he stands. John leans over to Stiles' ear, "What's happening?" 

Stiles frowns, "I'm not really sure..." 

Another howl rings out, and this time all but the lone wolf respond. 

John keeps his eyes mostly on that wolf, realizing with some hesitation that it's Peter, as the group starts to jump around and play with one another. There's some roughhousing, but it's mainly between the four younger wolves. Derek does, at one point, come up to nudge his head against Peter's shoulder and Peter happily jostles him back. He knows it's Peter, he really does, but months of chasing down 'mountain lions' suddenly comes back to him, and John finds himself wondering if he and Stiles are really safe for a brief moment. He actually has to kind of catch his breath when the wolf starts to make it's way over. 

Stiles is standing already, walking out towards the couple of wolves rolling around each other in the dirt and leaving John alone with Peter. 

John watches him hesitantly, looking for something to connect this wolfish version of Peter to the man that he knows. He finds it in the eyes, big and blown, staring up at him with such hope, and reaches a hand out before he can hesitate again. When his fingers finally touch down on the soft wolf fur, John feels a little easier. Any other wild animal would have probably bitten his arm off by this point, but this is _Peter,_ and John is okay. 

Peter droops forward to nuzzle his snout against John's thigh until he chuckles, "Sorry Peter, I'm just a little nervous." 

The wolf cocks his head to the side, and John laughs. 

"I know it's you, but it's still kinda freaky. I'll get used to this eventually though, right?" 

Peter practically purrs underneath John's fingers before jumping up to put his forepaws on John's legs and lick his face excitedly. 

John decides this may be his new favorite form of Peter. 

Er... well, second favorite. The one that pins him down against the mattress will probably always be kind of hard to beat. 

Derek is the first of the pack to wander over to John, sandwiching him between the two wolves as he sniffs and rubs his face along John's chest and arms. Peter looks absolutely ecstatic to see it, which only made it all the more confusing to John until another of the wolves starts to mozey over towards them and Stiles _finally_ takes pity on him. 

"They'll all probably be kinda.. you know," Stiles said, gesturing his hands around somewhat awkwardly as Derek comes to lean on him, "all up on you for a while. It's just to get their scent everywhere. They'll wanna get used to you and stuff like that... It's a wolf thing." 

Stiles stopped, recovered, and said instead, "Well, it's a  _pack_  thing." 

"I think I get it," John replied, "Sort of like letting a dog sniff your hand to get to know you?" 

Stiles snorted, "Yeah, kinda like that."

Derek nudged him with his snout, apparently displeased with that comparison, but went back to cuddling him when Stiles chuckled and started to scratch behind his ears.

The wolves that Stiles tells him are Scott and Isaac rub themselves all over Stiles while John deals with what must be Erica and Boyd, tentatively nudging John with their noses and pawing at his legs. It would almost be cute, if he didn't remember what a bulking man Boyd had been and how fierce a woman Erica had looked like before they shifted. 

Peter never leaves his side to scent Stiles or the other wolves, but he does gently bump noses with them as they come up to greet John. He almost feels a little bad for Peter, being left out, but he remembers that Peter isn't quite part of Derek's pack yet. It must be a slow process and he just doesn't understand yet. 

John settled in beside Stiles to watch the other wolves play, looking away only when Stiles nudged him with his elbow fondly, "You know, this is kinda like the rest of my family, dad... and I'm really glad you're involved in it now, even if the circumstances were really freaking weird." 

"Me too." John replied, and smiled as he wrapped an arm around Stiles.

When the night came to an end, Peter curled up around John's legs while the rest of the wolves pups slept in a curled pile on the floor (Stiles sprawled out ungracefully in the middle). John allowed himself to be lulled to sleep in the outdoors, under the stars with the chirping of bugs and the presence of a literal pack of wolves just a few feet from him. Peter's warmth and weight against him was pleasant, and kept him from lying wide awake, worrying about whatever other animals roamed the forest in the night. He felt undeniably safe there, pressed against him, and it was good. 

He relaxed into Peter and slept soundly. 

* * *

 In the morning, John woke up to a big breakfast. The inside of the house wasn't great, charred and broken apart with splintering wood and shattered glass, but the kitchen had been cleaned up enough to cook in with two little gas powered stoves for heat. With Stiles' help, Erica and Isacc set to work cooking up a meal of scrambled eggs, pancakes, four packs of bacon and nearly a whole bread loaf worth of buttered toast. 

Scott had been given the task of setting up the table, just a pair of two fold outs pushed together on the porch to form one giant surface, and Boyd assisted in that, running little errands for Erica or moving food from the kitchen to the table along with Derek. 

Peter offered John a chance in the shower, but John politely declined after seeing its state. "How did Derek live here for so long? This place really needs a remodel." 

Smiling sadly, Peter handed him a set of fresh clothes they'd packed away in an overnight bag, "He muddled through. He's had that loft for a while now, but he plans to come back and rebuild this place; make a new home for himself and for the pack." 

"Will everyone live together here?" John asked, curious. 

"That's the idea." 

"Will you live here?" 

Peter grinned, "That's the hope." 

Breakfast is a happy affair, chatty and excited about everything that had occurred during the full moon. They share little stories about previous experiences too, most of them forged out of weird happenstances or accidents. John listened excitedly, laughing at some of the funny stories and appropriately reacting to the more thrilling or sensitive ones. It feels almost like a family reunion, catching up with them all, and John absolutely loves it. If this is what Stiles has been getting, this big family mentality, then he's extremely thankful to each and every one of them. 

He's always enjoyed the times he's able to really sit down and have some family time with Stiles, but those moments were rare and a bit different in nature. It's nice to have a huge table, overflowing with friendly faces and good food. He can tell Stiles feels the same way, laughing at something Scott's said before smacking his shoulder fondly. 

He's incredibly thankful that Stiles has something like this... and now _he_ does too.

Isaac, Scott and Erica are the first to make a leave, Stiles and Derek announcing their disappearance next after Derek helped Boyd load the folding tables into the back of his vehicle. Peter and John wave to them as they climb into their own car, and John feels extremely content; stated in how the night and morning had gone. 

When they're back at John's, curled up on the couch with Peter rubbing John's cheek with his nose, John tells him as much and Peter purrs with pride. 

But then the nerves start creeping back in, and he really starts to wonder if he can say he belongs in that family just yet. "Peter..." he starts hesitantly, and the man lets up on his nuzzling to respond with a hum, "Did you... really want me?" 

Peter stops to pull back, looking John in the eyes as he stares at him like he's being utterly ridiculous, "What are you talking about?" 

"Did _you_  want me, or is it your wolf making you like me?"

Peter is hesitant, but John's secretly grateful to see him take a real moment to think about it before he replies, because he knows the answer will be genuine, "Originally, it was the wolf." 

And John feels his heart break a little before Peter quickly adds, "But I'm glad it happened that way." 

John blinked up at him, "You are?" 

"My wolf may have wanted you, John, but I _chose_  you."

John had reached up to kiss him before he realized it, hands cupping Peter's cheeks as he lovingly replied, "I love you too." 

Peter grinned widely, showing his pearly teeth to John in a giddy smile before tipping his head back to howl victoriously. The sound echoes, and John can't help the pleasant laugh that comes up from his belly.


	9. "I Love You More Than Anything"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wrote the initial sex scene to Two Feet 's song: I Feel Like I'm Drowning. _I highly recommend_. All of their music is so slow and sensual. I would 100% do the diddly to it. 10/10. So if you're interested in listening to that while reading the scene, it may run a little differently and make for an enhanced experience if you're someone like me who really imagines the written scenes! :) 
> 
> That being said, we're coming up on the FINAL CHAPTERS HERE!!! Wow this story took forever to really wrap up in the end... You can see the difference in my writing as the chapters progress. :) Thank you for sticking with it to the end! xoxox

Peter is a gentle lover. 

It might sound surprising, given his rather... violent history, but he's _extremely_ careful in bed. The way he holds John, arms languidly wrapped around him in a supportive and tender embrace, kissing his way up John's chest to his lips, it's entirely too tender to be considered anything other than gentle. He fucks John like he's so easily broken, as if he's a delicate treasure Peter wants to covet and shine; John's something to put atop a pedestal and be appreciated.

The pace is slow, nearing torturous territory as Peter rocks into John with rolling thrusts, hands pulling up at the small of his back, raising his hips to better meet the slow push of Peter's own. 

The sweat drips _up_ John's collar, pooling around his neck until Peter leans in to lap at it, the musk heavy on his tongue and it really shouldn't be as hot as it is, but John shivers with electric arousal  anyway. With anyone else, John would be too old for a position like this. He's not spry enough to hold his hips up in this position for an extended time, ass raised off the mattress and cock bobbing in the air. If it wasn't for Peter's unnatural strength, he just couldn't do it... 

But Peter _is_ holding him up, arms curled around him and John finds that _he can_. 

And God, it's the hottest fuck he's ever had. 

"Peter!" he gasps, throwing his head to the side and fisting the sheets beside his head even tighter. 

A low, throaty and possessive growl rumbles up from Peter's chest as he leans over to mouth at a nipple.

"Oh my God... I can't keep this up..." he whimpered, and raised one hand to close his fingers around Peter's hair instead. 

Peter smiled against him, "You can, John." then he chuckled, "Even if you can't... I could fuck you like this for hours... maybe through a second orgasm?" 

John groaned, "I'm too old for that." 

"Then I suppose we'll just have to be satisfied with you _coming_ completely undone while I slowly fuck into you." 

John whined, tugged on Peter's hair when he tried to go back to nipping at his chest, and shook his head, "I want... I want the rest of you before I cum." 

Peter raised an eyebrow,  "The rest of me?" he grinned, and rolled his hips again with an upward aim until John's jaw dropped. "I assure you John, you have _all_ of me. Always." 

"Ugh! I mean-" he cut himself off with a desperate moan. 

If Peter kept aiming right for his prostate like that this would be over far too soon. _He had plans for tonight, damn it_. "Your knot." he gasped, and Peter's hips stuttered forward roughly before he stilled. 

"You want..?" 

" _Yes._ " John said with a nod, "That... that would make us mates, right? We'd be mating if you-"

" _John,_ " he growled, and gently lowered the Sheriff's hips to lean completely forward, pressing himself over John like a blanket and touching their noses together, "You can't back out of this. If you let me mate you, you'll be mine forever." he pushed himself in one more time, knot bumping just along John's rim, almost as if accentuating his point, " _Mine_ , John. Nobody else, _ever_." 

"Yes!" John cried, and wrapped his arms around Peter's neck to keep him from moving away, "I already told you I agree to that. I want you Peter. I want to be your mate." 

Peter's smile was brilliant, damn near blinding as his lips split, "I'd howl, but I have no interest in dislodging your arms." he chuckled, "I like having you cling to me." 

"Knot me, Peter." he coaxed, and tried to cheekily lift his leg around Peter's hips to pull him in further.

He failed, but damn it he tried.

Peter chuckled, and retracted an arm from beneath John to assist him, lifting the leg up until it was level with his hip and sighing as he pushed himself closer. The beginning of his knot was _right there_ , so close to coming home, pressing just inside, and it took everything Peter had to fight with himself and keep from just pushing it all in. He had to make sure John never regretted this.

"The stretch will sting." he said carefully, and moved his other arm so that he could cradle John's face with a hand, "Would you prefer if I stretched you a little more first?"

John thought on it, but that would mean pulling out. It would mean Peter would have to move away, and he was already so close... "No," he decided, "I want to just feel you." 

Peter grumbled between his teeth, surging forward to capture a heated kiss before offering a breathy, "John Stilinski, you are every werewolf's wet dream..." 

He laughed, "I hope not! That would make our pack meetings very awkward." 

Peter whimpered, head ducking to nuzzled at John's neck excitedly. 

"What did I say?" he chuckled, and let his fingers comb through Peter's hair. 

"Pack." he said simply, and nipped at his throat, " _Our_ pack, John." 

John groaned, and in a moment of rash decisions, let one hand claw down Peter's back, "Knot me already, Peter." 

Peter growled, low and hungry, "If you keep saying such delicious things I might lose my composure, John. Be careful." 

"Lose it." he huffed, and tipped his head back to offer his neck, a gesture he _knew_ would rile Peter up. "I want to feel you lose yourself for me..." 

The bite down was fast, teeth digging into the skin of John's neck with frenzied precision as Peter shoved the rest of himself forward. _It did hurt_. A lot, but John only allowed for one short, surprised cry to leave his lips before he continued on with the moaning. Peter was inside of him. Completely. Teeth in his neck and Knot in his ass, taking John like the beast that was hidden away inside of him. 

Peter was mating him. 

John cried out, neck starting to strain from the position Peter kept him in, teeth still persistently holding him still. "Peter-" he gasped, "PeterPeterPeter-"

Peter's hips jerked back and forth, the knot pulling out until the bulbous round of it was stretched John to what should be uncomfortably wide before he slammed it back inside. His growls rumbled through the point where he was connected with John's neck, and all John could do was wail and hold on as he was fucked. 

Sharp claws suddenly threatened to break skin at his hips, where Peter held him tight. Their slight sting only served to excite John even more. 

Peter fucked him like an animal, all strength and desperate need, thrusts short and choppy and teeth _still_ holding him in place. 

Even after Peter spilled into him, after he got a fist around John and jerked him off too, still thrusting in short bursts as his knot kept him mostly in place. They were stuck together, and John couldn't believe how fucking hot it was to be taken like this, for Peter to forget his gentle handling for a moment and just _take_.

At last, his teeth retracted, and Peter's tongue darted out to lap at the forming mark, purring with content before slotting his own neck just within John's reach, "Mine too, John."

John didn't even think, just opening his mouth and surged forward, catching the flesh within his teeth and biting down with some force. Peter moved fast, carefully slipping his claws around John's back again and lifting, holding them tightly chest-to-chest so as not to dislodge him. 

When he was done, and Peter was holding him there, sat up on the bed with John in his lap, teeth still in his neck and cum splattered between them, Peter did tip his head back. He howled like Peter had never heard a creature howl. The sound was loud, almost deafening, but John couldn't hear much else besides the beating of Peter's heart where his ear was pressed against him. 

John almost wanted to howl himself. 

He pulled his mouth away, only a little disappointed to see the mark not nearly as deep as Peters, and pulled his mate out of his triumphant howl to kiss him. 

"I love you, Peter." 

Peter looked ready to howl again, but John held him still with both his hands on either cheek, so he settled with a wide and toothy grin, "I love you more than anything, John." 

* * *

 John was nuzzled comfortably into Peter's side when he was startled awake by Peter's low growl of warning. There was a jostle of movement, Peter gone away from John's side while John tried to rub his bleary eyes awake. "Peter?" he said to the open. 

When his sight was less fuzzy, John caught a look at his new mate, half shifted and standing between their bed and the door. John slipped out of the covers cautiously, tugging a pair of pajama bottoms up over his hips and a night shirt over his head before stepping closer to Peter. If he had to leave the room, he didn't to go out buck naked... just in case whatever woke Peter was Stiles returning home--maybe even with Derek. 

His hips were still sore, so the toddle over was a little slower than John intended, but it gave him the few moments he needed to understand that Peter was in a half shift. Harrier than usual, fangs protruding from his snarl and bent over in a crouch, ready to strike as he glared at the door.

Maybe they were in danger?

But when he strained his ears to listen, John couldn't hear a thing. There was no noise coming from the hallway, nothing that could clue him in on what Peter was growling at.

"Peter?" John asks cautiously, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

He gets a low, warning growl in return for his efforts, but before John can try to ask again the door bursts open and people are flooding into the room. 

_John hadn't heard them at all._

Two men jump at Peter, each going for an arm while a third lifts a crossbow level with his eyes. A fourth stranger makes at John, who had backed himself into a corner stupidly the minute the commotion started. Peter snarled at him, and John took the opportunity to swing as soon as he was distracted, landing a hit square in the jaw and kicking him the chest after he'd doubled over. 

John might not be a _werewolf_ , but he _was_ the damn sheriff. He could hold his own. 

When John looked up from his wounded assistant to Peter, about to rush forward to help him, he found that Peter had shifted. His brows were curled into a permanent snarl, claws protruding from his fingers and hair overtaking most of his face, continuing all the way down his chest and arms. 

Oh, right. He and Peter were mostly naked... 

Because these bastards had attacked them in the middle of the night, gone right for their bedroom and probably assumed they'd still be fast asleep--the cowards. 

John shouted to Peter, warning him about the man coming up from behind, gun pointed at his back and looking like he was just itching to pull the trigger. Peter swung around with a ferocious speed, snapping his teeth at the man and swiping at him with his claws. He ends up catching him on the second swing, catching him by surprise and throwing the attacker into the closet, which breaks on impact. Great. Well, John needed an upgrade anyway. 

Apparently also a new dresser, as Peter throws another against that and it slams against the wall. It looks he could have broken the guy's back, but John honestly cares more about the dent it put in his wall than he does about the bastard that's attacking Peter. 

There are broken bits of furniture everywhere, claw marks on the walls and blood splatter decorating the floor in gore. John's even more horrified by the fact that he can't tell how much of it is Peter's. There's a gash in his arm from a shot, an arrow in his leg and John's not sure if he'll be able to hold out much longer in his condition. Someone with a dart gun has been firing shots at Peter the entire fight, and John can see that whatever they've got is starting to put Peter off balance--he's losing his energy to fight. 

"Peter!" he tries, deciding that even if he's a little outmatched here, at least he can try. 

John's only just gotten a foot in front of himself to go to his aid when he's snatched from behind, the man he'd kicked to the ground grabbing at him with an angry grip and a curt, " _Son of a_ _bitch_." 

John struggled, desperate and frustrated when he can't get any more than a few inches of leeway between them. He's caught. The man yanks John's arms behind his back and forces him chest down against the bed before spying his neck, " _Shit_." he cursed, and lifted his head to yell at one of the others, "We're too late. He's bit." 

"Peter-" 

Peter's head whips around, eyeing John and the position his assailant has him in. He growls fiercely, back on his haunches to jump forward at them before there's another dart in his shoulder. He stumbles over, the effects of all the other darts (and there are a startling amount of them) finally taking their toll. He's on the ground now, and one of the men in looping a chain around his legs while another puts a gun to his head. 

They're both caught now. Nothing he can do. 

Peter must sense it too, because he looks up at John with a look of defeat and sorrow before tipping his head back to howl. 

The sound echoes through the room, out the open window and into the night well before a woman with short, choppy hair slams the butt of her shotgun into his forehead. 

Peter yelps, head falling to the ground to join the rest of him, and John struggles harder, "You bastards! I'm the sheriff here and this is-"

"Blake, shut him up, would you?" she snaps, nodding her head towards the man holding him, "We've gotta get out of here before the rest of em' show up for a rescue. He was calling them." 

There's a cloth shoved into John's mouth before he's dragged away from the bed and forced out the door. Peter cries out weakly to him, the broken cry of an injured wolf, and John has just enough time to see them hit him again, and Peter stops moving on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's not a Castello story without a little dramatic tension~ ;)


	10. "A Part of that Family"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The. Last. Chapter. 
> 
> It's always both a relief and a sadness to finish up a fic. (I swear this isn't a podium speech but) Thank you for sticking with this story to the end. Took a heck of a lot longer to finish than most of my stories do, so I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Side note, I told my friend that I left everybody with a cliffhanger and then it was going to be the last chapter. She told me if I killed everybody off and made that me ending *cough cough* _again_ that she'd stop being my friend...  
>  So no frets. All the good guys live. XD

John wakes up in a cage that's far too small for him. The tightly confined space forces him to stay crouched and irritates his aching muscles. He takes a moment to take in his surroundings, years of police training kicking in as he tries to piece together the puzzle. He's in a dark room, the walls are musty and there's a repetitive drip that clashed against the cement floor every few seconds. There's a wooden table right beside his cage and John can barely make out what's on top of it. The small bits he does see don't put him at ease. 

He spies Peter almost immediately after and wants desperately to call out to him, but stops himself. Their captors might not know he's awake yet, and if that's the case then the smarter decision would be to stay quiet and figure out what he can before they return. He struggles to get to a position where he can see Peter over the table. John has to crane his neck and press his cheek against the top of the cage before he can get a good look. 

Peter's still in his boxers, hanging from the ceiling by two chains that look strong enough to hoist an anchor. His head is lulled to the side, hanging between his outstretched arms while his toes barely touch the ground. Peter wants to see if he's alright. From here he can't tell if Peter is still breathing, but he hopes with every fibre of his being that he is. 

He takes one more quick look around, noting the barred windows and the open doorway before he gives in and calls out to Peter. 

"Peter!" he tries, finding his voice hoarse and chalky. 

He clears his throat when he doesn't get an answer and tries again, "Peter! For God's sake, _please_ answer me!"

There's a twitch and a low groan that follows and John lets out an exasperated sigh of relief. Peter's not dead. Though, he's sure, now able to catch a better look at the nasty tools set atop the wood table from his craned head position, if they don't escape soon then that could very likely change. "Are you alright?"

"John..." Peter grumbles, trying to shake himself awake but still unable to lift his head. " _John._.."

"I'm here." he offers quickly, hoping maybe if he keeps his voice calm Peter will be more susceptible to slowly coming to. "I'm alright, Peter."

Peter's head jerks up with a start, suddenly hyper aware and clearly on high alert. His eyes dart around the room lightning fast before they settle on John, crouched in his little cage in nothing more than a thin white tee and pajama bottoms. He snarls violently, eyes flickering over to a brilliant and angry blue as he struggles in his chains, leaning towards John with all his might. 

John saw the color, and wanted to comment, but now just wasn't the time, "Peter, I'm alright. You need to try and calm down-"

"Where are they?!" Peter growled, teeth slipping into their canine form as he went back to glaring around the room in rapid search. 

"It's just us, Peter. Please, try to calm yourself." John tried again, "It'll be easier to figure out how to get out of here if we're both level headed."

"They put you in a _cage._ "

"And you're hanging from the ceiling like a slab of meat!" John snapped back bitterly. Desperately trying to stay mello even as his temper raised with his mate's, he recollected himself and started again, "I'm just as freaked out as you are, maybe even more, but if we want to get out of here-"

"I'll rip their throats out." Peter snarled, jangling his chains once more, "I'll make them wish they'd never-"

"Peter, _stop_." John ordered, trying his best to project a voice that was both soothing but stern, careful not to challenge Peter, but made sure he understood that he needed to listen to John. "You are going to calm down. Then we are going to come up with a plan to get out of here. Once we're free, you can take me home and I'll remind you why it's good to listen to my ideas."

Peter snorted, despite himself, "The sex chair?" 

"The sex chair." he nodded once, "Now do you think you can take a deep breath for me?" 

Peter huffed, jangled his wrists once more, but complied, "Okay." 

"Neat trick." Came a sultry voice from the doorway, echoing slightly off the cobblestone walls of the room as a man stepped into view. 

Peter quickly began to grow restless again, lip curling up and exposing his threatening sneer with promise. 

The man huffed, "Looks like you've still got some training to do though." 

"Why are you doing this?" John asked immediately, eager to get the focus off Peter. 

He scoffed, "That is, without a doubt, the stupidest question you could have asked."

John frowned. Peter snarled. 

"You've got to know you're seeing a fucking werewolf, right?" he continued, gesturing towards Peter with a careless arm, "How do you sleep at night? Ever have nightmares about him tearing out your throat? I bet he'd wait until your eyes are closed. It's an animal thing." 

"Peter is _not_ an animal." John bit out angrily, surprised by his own defensiveness. 

"Pfft." he spurred, and rounded the little table that sat between him and Peter, inching closer to John's little cage, "He's an animal alright. When you really think about it, you're fucking _a mutt_." he crouched down in front of John, ignoring Peter's insistent struggling, "You know, there are laws against beastiality, _sheriff_. "

John moved back, not exactly eager to be so close to this horrible man, "You're disgusting." 

" _You're_ the one sleeping with a monster. I'm just stating the facts here."

"So you kidnapped him to kill him? Just because he's a werewolf?" he nodded towards the table, "Not even humanely. Even dogs aren't tortured before they're put down. Who's the real monster here?" 

The man chuckled, a little grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, "I like your spirit, I really do, but you've got a bite." 

Peter's neck drew tight, jaw working angrily even as his eyes widened with respective fear, "He's not turned. It's not that kind of bite-" 

"Why else would you bite him if you weren't going to turn him?" he retorted, cocking his head over his shoulder to ask. 

Peter's hands curled into fists above his head, but he remained silent. 

It was the wrong choice, evidently, as the man stood. John wanted to call him back, away from Peter, but he was too intrigued with Peter now, "What did you do, wolfman?" 

Peter growled, and gritted out through clenched teeth, "He's still human. That's all that matters. You don't have to hurt him." 

The man's eyes expanded a fraction, his face lighting up with new discovery, "Oh, _you didn't_." 

When Peter silently averted his eyes, the man pivoted 90 degrees, smiling over at John jovially, "Oh, you did! You did!" he laughed, "You _mated_ the sheriff of Beacon Hills. Wow. Quite the play, wolfman. I'm actually a little impressed. Get a little inside man on the force, huh? You think that'll stop us from tracking all of you down?"

Peter cocked his head, "All of us?" 

"Every. Last. One." he smirked, "See, our predecessors, those pesky Argents, never really understood that to take down a pack in the animal, you target it's members one by one."

"Why keep John?" Peter asked bitterly. "You know he's not a werewolf."

The man shrugged, "Well I might have let him go before, but I've found that you beasties are much more... _agreeable_ when your mate's life is on the line. I think I'll keep him around a little longer, just to make sure you don't get any bright ideas, you understand."

"Why did you start with us?" John asked desperately, wanting to draw out the man's dialogue for as long as possibly, praying with all his might that someone would come to get them soon. "Why not go after the Alpha first? If you took out the leader then the rest would be easier... right?"

He grinned, "Honestly? Easier to catch an older targets. Your nephew's got that mate that looks like he could run for days straight if he wanted." 

John was grumpy at first, slightly offended about being called "old" but... when he'd mentioned _Stiles_ , his targeted anger has flipped. He didn't say anything, talking about Stiles would only make it worse in the long run, and he could only hope they got out of here and killed these bastards before they got the chance to go after his son. 

But John was sure Peter saw him flinch. He growled. 

"Oh calm yourself." their captor said, strolling over to the table with a slow leg, plucking a tool off the table to twirl in his fingers menacingly, "So who goes first?" 

Peter lurched forward, under three inches away from being able to snap at the man's face, struggling in his chains with rage. 

"I'm going to bite into your wrist," Peter glared, "and pull the tendons out with my teeth very slowly, to make sure you feel it when they rip and snap." 

John flinched, staring wide-eyed up at Peter as he snarled out threat after threat. 

"Well... Thanks for volunteering, mutt." 

"Stop! Don't!" John tried, but he'd already shoved some kind of needle into Peter's side, forcing the syringe to empty with his teeth gritted in a grin. 

Peter roared, straining upward and away from the infliction, but in vain. John tried to get them to stop, he yelled over and over, but nobody listened. He watched them poke and prod with this and that, Peter howling and thrashing in his restraints. 

"Peter!" he yelled, desperately shaking the bars of his little cage, "Stop it, please!" 

But he didn't listen. 

"Wolfbane." he grinned, "You're familiar. It's not enough to kill you, but it will certainly knock down your tolerance for pain, wolfman." 

Peter snarled, but it was much weaker than it had been a moment ago. 

"That's right. Just let it sink into your blood. Your healing factor should take a nice punch real soon. Wanna test it out?" the man leered, lifting a tool that John couldn't quite grasp an understanding of. One side was rough and jagged like a saw, but the over was sharp like a knife. He sadly got his answer when the man drove it into his side. The smoothe side of the blade made it easy to insert while the ridged part dragged and cut along the skin in a rougher shape. It was awful. 

John wanted to scream, but Peter did it for him. 

"Explain the hierarchy of your pack and I promise I'll make your death a quick one." 

Peter grunted, head tipping back so that he could face his tormentor before spitting at him, "Go to hell." 

He shoved in again, this time tearing the muscle near a shoulder, "Try again." 

"I'm not telling you anything." Peter growled, "You might as well kill me. I won't give you anything."

The man looked at him thoughtfully, and tapped the bloody weapon against his cheek before smiling, "Maybe you're right." and when he turned, face leering over at John with something sickening, John felt his stomach drop, "You think he'll tell me anything?" 

Peter lurched forward, "He's a human. You don't have to kill him. He hasn't done anything wrong, just-" 

"He's mated to a damn _werewolf_ , it's almost just as bad as being one. He chose to associate himself with you monsters." he spat back, and came a few steps closer to John's cage, "He's also the sheriff. We can't have him going around telling anybody about this, and a good upstanding fella like him, as naive as he is to your kind, he'll tell people."

He kneeled beside John, hand jutting forward to grab John's hand before he could pull them away from the bars, "Tell me what I want to know and I'll let you go with a bullet to the head. Quick and painless, I promise." 

John grit his teeth together, "I won't betray them." 

His yell was louder than he thought it would be when his finger was brought backwards, pushed and pushed until it finally gave with a sickening snap. Peter was making all sorts of loud, angry sounds that were inhuman in nature. The man tugged on the broken digit, "Looks like it separated at the knuckle. I could've made it a lot worse. You could still tell me what I want to know..." 

John bowed his head. If Peter could stay strong then so could he, and John would be strong for the rest of them. All those kids... Stiles. Derek. All of them. "No..." he said, and prepared for another snap.

Instead the man sighed, "Damn it. Ventura, they're not gonna give anything up, get in here. You take the sheriff and I'll put down the mutt."

Peter began wildly snapping his jaws as  _Ventura_ neared John, not even seeming to care as the man in charge came closer to him, that awful device back in his hand. John is dragged out from his cage and forced to his knees, hands behind his back and head bowed -  _like an execution_. "You're all awful people." he bit out, glaring at the man as he neared Peter. 

He angrily stomped back, "You think you know what we're about? We spend our lives killing all the monsters that go bump in the night. You're just too diluted to see that." 

Peter pipes up before John can retort, "I forced him." 

All eyes turn, and John is fucking furious, because _what?_ "Peter-"

"He's under the influence of a drug. I bit him. He only doesn't understand how _right_ you are about us because he's under the drug's thrall." 

The man stood, snorted, "Yeah, right." 

"I'm only telling you because I'll be dead anyway. Might as well fess up before I'm gone." 

His eyes flicker briefly over to John, then back to Peter, "You're just trying to save his life." 

Peter scoffed, and John was starting to see what kind of game he was playing at, but he was having none of it, "Peter just shut up. If we're going down, we're going down together. Don't let my last memory of you be you trying to bullshit everyone by pretending you don't care about me." 

Peter's eyes widened briefly before he huffed, head shaking with fond frustration, "Damn it John. I was trying to be the hero." 

"I don't need a hero." he smirked, "You don't have to pretend to be one, you're not. I already know that." 

"Only you would say that." Peter smiled, "I suppose I'll have to just let you be my hero then, is that it, sheriff?" 

"Damn straight. I wasted three years just to get my badge. You'd better let me make the most of it." 

"This is _heartwarming,_ " Ventura sneered, "truly. Can we kill them _now_ ?" 

The man nodded, turning back to Peter while Ventura put a hand over his shoulder and placed the barrel of a pistol against his head. 

"I love you, Peter." 

Peter smiled, "Next time, you let me play hero." 

Ventura frowned, relaxing his tight hold momentarily with his confusion, "Next time?" and was promptly knocked off his ass and away from John by a large body. 

A growling body with glowing red eyes and teeth that ripped through flesh. 

Ventura screamed, and Stiles came rushing in, "Dad!"

"Stiles! What the hell are you-!?" John went to stand, run to his son and cry, but he was dragged back and off of his knees by his hair, yelping and struggling. 

The man in charge held John against his own chest like a shield, the same crude weapon he'd shoved into Peter's torso now less than an inch from his neck, still bloody even. "Nobody moves!" he shouted, and Derek's growl echoed off the walls as he stepped away from Ventura's mutilated carcass and in front of Stiles. 

"I'm sorry we're late Peter... everybody else is finishing off the others." 

The man jerked John once, "Do you not see that I've got him with a blade to his throat?" he spat angrily, and Stiles glared. 

"I see it. I'm just not worried about you." 

He scoffed, "I'm leaving with him. Nobody follows or I swear to god I'll kill him." 

Stiles' expression might not make sense to anyone else, but John can see the underlying smugness, pushing aside the fear that's usually more prominent. He knows something... "Stiles-"

" _Shut up!_ " 

Behind them, where he'd let his guard down, Peter had been moving. Packs made you stronger, and as soon as Peter could hear the sounds of distant fighting he'd felt strength coming back into his bones. He knew they'd be alright, it was only a matter of stalling. 

He silently pulled himself up by his chains now, curling his body with a combination of practiced gymnastics and werewolf strength so that his feet planted firmly on the ceiling. He made eye contact with Derek, knowing this would only work if he was paying attention, and when he knew he was, Peter kicked off hard. 

The chains popped away from their fixtures in the ceiling, and Peter dropped down behind the two of them with an angry growl. 

The man swung around quickly to defend himself from Peter, _so quickly in fact_ , that he nicked a small patch of John's neck with the blade. 

Peter could smell it, his keen eyes caught it, and he saw red, " _You cut him_." 

The man shrieked and moved the tool away just enough to get a look, "I didn't-" 

The blade far enough away from the sheriff and their captor distracted, Derek make his launch. He tackled the man to the ground with a violent roar, and John ran towards Peter, desperate to get his arms around him. Derek had him pinned, about to make the killing blow when Peter stopped him. 

"Derek." 

John looked up, and Derek cocked his head with a growl. 

"Don't kill him." 

Derek's teeth pulled back to reveal his canine snarl, but Peter stared back at him, "He hurt my mate, Derek. He's _mine_." 

The wolf growled, but it was short and non threatening. John realized Derek was going to let him finish the man off. 

"Peter, don't-" 

"Stiles, take your father home. Derek... will you make sure they get out safely?" 

Derek looked like he wanted to fight, even in his wolf form, his eyes shining a brilliant red that stated,  _I am the Alpha and I don't take orders_ , but Peter stopped him with a held up hand, "I'm not challenging you, nephew. I'm asking a favor." and to accentuate his point, he tipped his head to the side, neck exposed.

Derek snorted, muzzle twitching and wet before he stepped off of his prey. The man struggled as Peter pulled him violently to his feet. 

The wolf nudged Stiles, and Stiles obediently grabbed his father's arm and pulled him away in a panic.  John protested with curse after curse, dragged away by his son and a large, black wolf. As they went, he could hear Peter, voice low and dangerous as he snarled at the man in his hold, "You _hurt_ him."

There were blubbering pleas for his life, a blood curdling scream, and then Peter's retorting growl, "You we're going to _kill_ him."

John was no longer able to make out anything Peter said to him, but the man's screams, guttural and desperate, overgrown with the sound of death, could still be heard even after they'd gotten out of the building. John heard one more cry, a plea to the heavens, and then there was nothing but silence.

* * *

When Peter finally comes out of the shady looking building to meet them, he's got blood splatter stripped across his chest. His eyes are dark and brooding as he makes his way to the group. He doesn't go directly to John like he'd expected, sulking over to Derek with a purpose. John sorely wondered if he was the only one who felt like he needed to cling tightly onto Peter, the adrenaline finally fading and giving way to exhaustion now that he's seen Peter alive and well.

He stares jealously at Derek as they wrap cautious arms around each other. It's a curt hug, very stiff and awkward like they don't know how to console one another. John remembers then that they've been estranged for years. It's very likely this is the first time they've hugged in ages. Derek's shoulders lose a bit of their tension when they pull back, but Peter is still strung wire tight. 

He notices John then, and gives a final nod to Derek before making his way over to John. 

John meets him halfway, nearly crashing into his chest when he tightly wraps his arms around Peter's middle. He fights off an amused chuckle when Peter's tossed a little off balance, freezing up in John's embrace with a cut-off surprised squeak. It's only a small moment of hesitation before Peter returns the gesture, circling his arms around John's shoulders and burying his nose in John's hair. 

"I'm so sorry you had to-"

"Did you kill him?" John interrupts, face still firmly pressed against Peter's chest. 

Peter's heartbeat quickens, John can hear it where is ear is pressed against Peter's torso. He knows Peter doesn't want to answer him, maybe he'll even try to lie, but John already knows the answer. He'd asked because he wanted to hear Peter admit to it. He wanted Peter to know John was disappointed, that killing was _wrong_.

"I'm not a good man like you are, John..." Peter finally said, arms growing impossibly tighter around John, as if he thought John might disappear if he let go.

The sheriff shook his head, and finally drew back enough to look Peter in the eyes, "You _are,_ Peter." he said firmly, "You just don't know it yet."

Peter let out a rush of air, deflating as he pulled John in for a kiss. When they parted he smiled, full of thankful relief as he asked, "Would you be willing to show me?"

John placed a careful hand on Peter's cheek, and Peter was quick to cover it with this own appreciatively, rubbing his cheek into the palm. 

John was determined from there on out to act as Peter's guiding moral compass, and realized with some bi of awe that maybe that was exactly why they were meant to be together. Maybe it was why Peter's wolf had sought him out, knowing John would be the balancing yin to his yang. John swept his thumb over Peter's cheekbone with a sigh. Honestly, if it had been him in there, if he'd had a moment alone with the man that tortured Peter, John might have even done the same. He didn't have the right to judge, and he didn't want to. 

He simply wanted to be there for Peter. He wanted to encourage him and let him know that he could be better. He didn't have to be the villain. 

John pressed their foreheads together wearily, "I love you, Peter. Nothing you can do will change that, but we'll work on this. You are good. I want to show you that." 

Peter smiled, warm and lovingly as he tilted his chin up to kiss just over John's brow, "That's all I could ever want." 

"Also," John grinned, and jerked his head towards the tiny gaggle of teenage werewolves, staring at them, "you know you're officially a part of that family, right?" 

Peter snorted, so John continued, "Your eyes glow blue now, Peter." he smiled, and reveled in the moment Peter's eyes widened, the realization dawning on him before he whipped his head around to reassess the rest of the pack. 

Of their pack.

"John..." he breathed, elated, surprised and wanting to howl, "I- _we_ have a pack."

John grinned, kissed Peter on the lips, and held fast to his hand as they walked over to join the rest of them. Stiles hugged him, Derek inclined his head, and John watched giddily as the rest of the pack members sniffed and rubbed their scent onto Peter, officially inducting him into their family. 

John has never been happier.

 


End file.
